


Fridays I'm in Love

by jalapeno_eye_popper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Apprentice Hermione Granger, Brewing with Snape, Dubcon Smut, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Severus Snape, Love Potion Dubcon, Love Potions are Date Rape, Pining, Potion Technobabble, Potions Master Slughorn, Ron Weasley Bashing, Self-Loathing Snape, Severus Snape Lives, Smut, Teacher Hermione Granger, War is hell, love potion, romantic smut, so is romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalapeno_eye_popper/pseuds/jalapeno_eye_popper
Summary: When she returns to Hogwarts to finish her education, Hermione apprentices with Slughorn, but Snape is teaching her the most valuable lessons. After she's dosed with a love potion, they both face hard choices and the limits of magic. No matter what happens, at least they have Fridays.Written for the Page 394 Winter Holiday fest prompt: Love Potion. Complete in 5 chapters to be posted Christmas Weekend 2020. Alpha'd by Power_of_Anime_Girl_23 and Beta'd by BrightneeBee.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 74
Kudos: 321
Collections: Page 394 Discord Winter Holidays Celebration





	1. Fridays in August

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [00_Page_394_Winter_Holidays_Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/00_Page_394_Winter_Holidays_Collection) collection. 



Hermione hadn't said much since June. It hurt too much emotionally. She hadn't quite expected this pain. She expected just about everything else, and she was determined not to feel any anger at things that went exactly as planned. Dumbledore's plans worked out in the end, more or less. Hermione planned well, too, and now that she wasn't in constant mortal danger, she was pleased to get back to making and completing  _ study _ plans.

The Burrow had been quickly rebuilt, and Hermione stayed there through July. She slept in Ron's bed, clinging to him like a lifeline, but no longer taking her clothes off. Not after the first time, when he winced so hard at her scars that she put out the candles and allowed him to paw her in the darkness, faking an orgasm and cuddling up to him afterward.

On the rare occasion that she spoke, she made sure everyone knew she was going back to Hogwarts. The day after Harry's birthday, Hermione received an owl from Minerva McGonagall, asking for all sorts of extra help: rebuilding the castle, recruiting and retaining faculty, convincing the families of muggle-borns that it would be safe to return, and more. As she read the laundry list of tasks to be done, Hermione felt a smile tug her lips higher and higher.

"With a grin like that, let me guess," Ron said, sliding into the seat next to her. "You're approved for twelve courses, and I'll not see you at all between September and June."

Molly set a plate in front of each of them and shared a small grimace with Hermione. Hermione surveyed the full English, her smile long gone, and said slowly, "No, actually, Professor McGonagall has asked so many favors that I'm sure I have some leverage to get my weekends away from the castle, just like we wanted."

Around a shocking mouthful of food, he replied, "S'all righ' 'en!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave her own plate an assessing glare. The rest was fine, but she hated mushrooms. After essentially living on fungus in the Forest of Dean, she never touched them again. Daintily nibbling on a strip of bacon, Hermione ignored Ron's obnoxious masticating and reviewed McGonagall's requests.

Start next week to help rebuild? Yes. Convince the muggle-borns to attend? Maybe. Recruit new staff? Sure, why not. Retain current staff? That was more interesting. She'd relish a chance to chat with Professor Vector again, but Slughorn? Hermione continued to mark the list with yes, no, and maybe.

Then she got to the bit about Snape.

_ While I would have preferred to keep Severus for Defense, I think he is quite finished with teaching. He is likely the best Potions Master in the country, so I am ready to allow him whatever role keeps him happy. I am still working on that and will be pleased if you have any ideas at all. _

Hermione stared at this paragraph for quite some time, trying to think about Snape as  _ happy _ and failing. The closest she could get was thinking of him in his full strength, teaching Defense or Potions. But the last time she had seen him kept creeping into her vision, a rather unpleasant visage of him dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Even more than the blood, the idea that they abandoned him there gnawed at her more forcefully than Ron at his breakfast. Her appetite left her entirely, and she dropped her half-finished bacon before fleeing the kitchen.

\----------

Severus hadn't said much since June. It hurt too much physically. He hadn't quite expected this pain. He expected just about everything else, and he was determined not to feel any anger at things that went exactly as planned. Dumbledore's plans worked out in the end, more or less. Severus planned well, too, setting up the contingencies and ensuring he'd have something left to live for if he survived and didn't get chucked into Azkaban. 

While he had been Headmaster, Spinner's End was fixed up, and it served well enough as a place to hold his books and his bed for the week he spent recovering from his injuries. However, by the end of that week, he was fairly certain staying there would be very  _ very _ bad for his mental health, and he had the good fortune of Minerva offering him any job at Hogwarts he wanted. He insisted that she make the offer in writing, and then he started shadowing the staff, rather than the faculty.

Poppy Pomfrey wanted to retire, so he took her job.

It raised some eyebrows, but he simply raised his own even higher. Bedside manner would not be not his forte. Obviously. He was rather hopeful that the teenage dunderheads would be more careful, if an accident meant having to come to him for help, and that he'd have a great deal of free time. July proved him wrong long before students actually arrived. The credential for a Potions Master had a lot of overlap with the credential for a Healer, and he spent two intense weeks of study and testing for the official Ministry-stamped credential. The following week, he worked on rebuilding tasks for Hogwarts, but the number of owls delivering post quickly increased. Soon, he was busy with consults at St. Mungo's, assisting more difficult cases of breaking Dark curses and brewing advanced healing potions.

The sixth day of August was a Friday. He swooped into the Great Hall for a late breakfast with the same sour turn of his lips and eternal glare that had been his armor against the world for years. He usually ate quickly and left as soon as possible. Even before it hurt so much to talk, he  _ hated _ the idle chatter of mealtimes. But, today, Minerva came in just a minute later, looking determined.

Severus stiffened in his chair, darting an assessing glance at his plate. Had he eaten enough to flee immediately? Probably not. He was supposed to help re-ward the dungeons today, and he would need the energy. Holding his fork and knife at a position that was technically polite, but also ready to shank her if necessary, Severus locked eyes with Minerva and offered his full attention.

She gave him a withering look and sat down next to him as she said, "Calm down, Severus, I have good news for once. I have convinced Horace to stay on to teach Potions."

He relaxed his posture, and he took one careful, tiny bite as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Hermione Granger will apprentice with him for an accelerated program."

Ah. There it was. The catch. Miss Granger had not even taken her seventh-year studies, but she was to be something of a colleague. Minerva really was desperate to have enough faculty to open the school on September first.

The Headmistress took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before she continued. "She has agreed to do that, as well as teach the first- and second-years, and only sit the classes necessary to advance to Potions Mastery, so that she can train to be ready to take over for him in a year."

Carefully considering how to ask the question in as few words as possible, Severus then asked, "Her project?"

"That too." Minerva pursed her lips in a way that usually meant disapproval. "I told her that I do not expect so much all at once, and that we may be able to keep Horace another year if she needs it for her capstone project."

Severus was inclined to agree. Slughorn would no doubt take advantage of the ongoing chance to cultivate his Slug Club while Miss Granger picked up more and more duties. The capstone project was a truly original contribution to the field, and it was always the most difficult requirement for Mastery, usually requiring a year or more to complete,  _ after _ the year of advanced study. His own capstone was something he began long before he started his apprenticeship, and even so, he dedicated seven months toiling on the problem.

Did Miss Granger even know what she wanted to do?

Minerva snapped him out of these musings by snapping, "If she comes to you for advice, I expect you to give it."

His hand twitched on his knife, but he gave her a quick nod and pushed his plate away. His appetite was gone, and he fled. A tiny part of him wished he still had his teaching robes billowing dramatically, but he hadn't even touched those robes since his last day as Headmaster. Before term began he would need to invest in a new wardrobe. As he walked to the potions classroom, he amused himself by considering the way Lucius and Narcissa might fuss over him if he dared seek them out in France to ask them for help.

Miss Granger was already there. His arrival in the Potions classroom interrupted a heated discussion she was having with Slughorn. She spoke with a hushed urgency, and the tendrils of hair escaping the simple elastic were curling and uncurling with every breath she took.

Severus smirked. He knew exactly how frustrating it was to disagree with Horace Slughorn. A year ago he would have been enraged that she allowed her emotions to show in a physical response, but now that all their lives were not on the line, he found it rather charming.

Like Lily. Those gorgeous red locks would crackle with power. She didn't just wield magic. She  _ was _ magic.

Miss Granger was flushed pink when she turned to greet him, but then she schooled her face and said, "Good morning, Professor Snape."

Severus wasn't so sure why he felt the urge to shuffle his feet, but opened his mouth just long enough to correct her. "Healer," he said, wincing at the gravelly sound of his low voice.

Miss Granger's eyes went wide and then her expression settled into a sort of weak smile. "I'm sorry. Of course, Healer Snape."

"Severus!" Slughorn boomed, an immensely pleased grin drawing up underneath his mustache. "I forgot you were coming! Miss Granger and I can finish this next week. The three of us ought to make quick work of the wards, and then we can all skive off early today."

Severus was pleased to note that the severity of Miss Granger's glare matched his own. The girl was not one for eschewing responsibilities. 

Under this nonverbal admonishment, Slughorn seemed to lose some of his gusto, but he courageously barreled on, "That is to say, there is so much to do, and I wish to give you, Miss Granger, extra time to review the terms of the apprenticeship contract."

Sorely tempted to flee again, Severus was frozen to the spot as a curious nonverbal exchange took place in front of him. Miss Granger's eyes flicked to the parchments on Slughorn's desk, and Slughorn quickly snatched them up, rolled them, and handed them over. The girls' face was pinched tightly with disapproval, and some sort of unspoken distaste, but she tucked the scroll into her robes and turned her weak smile back to Severus.

"I always suspected safety spells on the Potions classroom, but I did not know which ones until I started my sixth year and determined some of them must be missing."

She was facing Severus and obviously expecting his input, but this was also a clear barb aimed squarely at the other Potions Master. Severus could feel the smirk returning to his face. He would have to be very careful about ganging up with her against Slughorn. He held far too much resentment from his experience as a student, and he needed to keep all that baggage checked.

The girl continued, "For example, I know my classmates liked to moan about how chilly it could get down here, but now I believe the ambient temperature was purposefully capped to keep more cauldrons in one piece."

Severus gave her a single nod.

Miss Granger drew her wand and turned to face the blackboard, which contained a short list of protective spells. She cast to add the temperature ward, and then she looked over her shoulder to ask, "What else is missing from Professor Slughorn's list?"

Drawing his own wand, he tried not to scowl too deeply as the list went from four items to ten. Was Slughorn really going to let hundreds of students brew in this room without proper ventilation charms?

He hesitated as he wrote the last one on the board, watching for Miss Granger's reaction. He was not disappointed when her eyes went wide in alarm. "A meltdown siren? Isn't that meant for industrial environments with highly volatile potions?"

He nodded again and then glared at Slughorn, who roughly cleared his throat. "Ahem, yes, well, Severus would remember the explosion in May of '72. He was working in the adjacent lab and ran for help when the entire class of fifth-years were critically injured. I had that charm applied for the rest of the culprit's academic career at Hogwarts, but haven't felt the need since."

Severus sighed. That would have to do for now.

Miss Granger sighed, too, and gave Severus a pleading look. "I'm really racking up the life debts to you. How many do I owe just from sitting next to Neville in Potions for five years?"

He raised one eyebrow, wondering if she was joking. But silence dragged on, and her earnest expression did not change. "None," he breathed, his throat straining over that one syllable.

Slughorn saved him from having to explain. "No more than you'll be owed any for casting these now, Miss Granger. You're doing it for the common good, and as my proxy. Consider it your first official assignment as my apprentice."

"Yes, sir," she said, taking one last look at the board. "I can do all of them myself except the siren. I don't know how to do that one."

"Very good," Slughorn said, "That one takes at least two casters to do anyway. Severus, care to demonstrate with me?"

He rolled his eyes. That was, after all, the reason he was down here.

The chanting hurt, but he powered through it. Miss Granger took notes and then got on with casting the remaining spells under the watchful eyes of two Potions Masters. Once that was done, Slughorn wished them both a good day and disappeared.

Severus wasn't sure why he felt the need to linger. He could not look away as Miss Granger collected her notes and then turned her weak smile upon him once again. She asked, "Did you apprentice with him?"

He shook his head slowly.

She pulled her contract scroll back out of her pocket. "I haven't signed it yet. Honestly... He's quite the puppeteer  _ without _ a contract to enforce his whims. I hate to ask more of you, but could you please skim this for red flags?"

This was it. Minerva had ordered him to give advice when asked, and now he could discharge that duty right away. He held out his hand and didn't waste any time.

When he finished, he waved his wand to clear off the board and wrote the two concerns that he could notice.

_ 1\. The duty hours are atypical, but they are reasonable if you requested all those weekends off. Likely he would agree to fewer overnight hours if he did not have to take all the weekend supervision required of Hogwarts faculty.  _

_ 2\. He wants too much power over your capstone and credit for its completion, as if he's assuming you will extend his research. It will be easier to negotiate control if you choose your topic before signing. Depending on the originality of that topic, you may need to consult a solicitor regarding your intellectual property. _

Severus handed the scroll back to Miss Granger, and she stared at the board long past the time she would need to read his suggestions. After a few minutes, she met his gaze and said, "Thank you. I did ask for the weekends. I love Hogwarts, but I want to see a bit more outside the walls before I commit to a career here."

He could understand that, having felt trapped in these dungeons plenty of times in the past. He vividly recalled Minerva's disapproval of his appointment to the faculty, not because of his reputation but because of his youth. He hadn't understood at the time, but now...

Miss Granger continued, "And I have several ideas for a capstone, but not one that inspires me. I was hoping I could take a few months to figure it out. It's going to be bizarre, sitting in his seventh-year class while also studying independently and teaching the first- and second-years."

Severus cast at the board again and added another item.

_ 3\. Your accelerated schedule is unnecessary and possibly unsustainable. If you are not resting during your off time, you will burn out. I know what it's like to run on caffeine and stress. Do not do that to yourself. _

She bristled, but her eyes were still on the board when she replied, "You know because you also started teaching very young? Or you know because that's what it was like teaching while Harry was a student here?"

Leave it to Hermione Granger to see things from every angle. "Both," he rasped aloud.

Her eyes darted to his, and her voice took a low, threatening tone he had never heard directed his way. "I may have more questions later."

She always did.

Miss Granger's weak smile slowly drew up to a full grin. "Thank you, Professor – I mean, Healer Snape."

He tilted his head forward in a curt acknowledgement and then turned on his heel and left. On his walk back to the infirmary, he pondered her comment about life debts. He had the misfortune of  _ racking up _ a few himself, but not all to the same person. He wasn't sure that she owed him one at all, let alone multiple.

Severus had a funny feeling that being owed such a debt was almost as bad as owing it. He put it out of his mind. If she really was going through with her apprenticeship, there would be plenty of time to figure it out.

A week later, Miss Granger came back with more questions.

\----------

Hermione had a terrible week. It started first thing Monday, when she asked Professor McGonagall to mediate further contract negotiations with Slughorn. This effort was undermined by Minerva's attempts to be more friendly, such as the invitation to use her given name. Hermione had been flustered, and by the end of the session she had only extended the length of the apprenticeship by two months, to include the following summer break. She would still be the new Hogwarts Potions Master by September first next year. She also managed to get the intellectual property rights shifted toward her favor, but with a caveat that her idea was original and distinct from any of Slughorn's past or current research.

She felt foolish for not having asked Snape to mediate instead.

Through this first week, she worked at the castle during the day, and she went back to the burrow at night. Ron was unhappy because his Auror training wouldn't start for two more weeks, and he wished for more time with her. He said some unhelpful things about how she was already abandoning him (the nerve!) to live at Hogwarts for a year, and that he didn't want her to be stuck there teaching for the rest of her life. Monday night she was so upset about everything she had tried to sleep alone on the sitting room sofa, but the nightmares quickly sent her back to Ron's room with a soft apology on her lips and pathetic need to cling to him.

She wasn't sure how she was going to make it sleeping alone at Hogwarts during the week.

Friday dawned clear and bright, and Hermione was determined to make the best of it. She had spent most of the week preparing lesson plans, frustrated with Slughorn's approach of teaching straight out of the book. Today, she wanted to talk to Snape. He may have been a right git, but she had learned a lot more from him.

The main door to the hospital wing was wide open as usual, and Hermione knocked loudly as she stepped through. "Hello?"

He wasn't in the infirmary, but she was instantly amazed at the changes to the long room. Additional privacy screens had been put up, each one angled just right to preserve some dignity from both the other cots and the entrance door. She stepped closer, realizing that there was still a line of sight from the office door, and a clear main aisle to the store cupboards and back room.

The back room door opened, and Severus Snape stepped out, scowling.

"Sorry to intrude," she said quickly. "I was wondering if I could help brew anything for the inventory here."

He raised one eyebrow.

She could feel herself blush. "And I'd like to pick your brain, if you'd allow it."

Snape stood very still for a minute, his scowl deepening. Hermione looked away, unsure about whether she could Occlude well enough if he was trying Legilimency. She almost abandoned this whole plan for the morning, and then he finally turned away, drawing her focus just in time to see him gesturing with one hand to follow him to the back room.

Inside was his own private potions lab. Hermione's breath caught. It was small but perfect, not at all like Slughorn's lab with multiple sterile benches and everything hidden behind opaque cupboard doors. In this room, narrow windows high up on the walls let in plenty of natural light without glaring. Various herbs were strung up to dry, and a tantalizing whiff of them both relaxed and excited her. A single long workbench dominated the middle of the room. One wall contained a blackboard with various notes and lists, and every other inch of the wallspace was covered in glass-front cabinets and simple shelves. Immediately to her left, coming in the door, was the bookshelf, stuffed to the brim but for the inbox and outbox at eye level.

Snape was already shuffling through the short stack of parchments he snatched up from the inbox, and when he found the one he was searching for, his lip curled in triumph before he cast at the empty space in the middle of the blackboard.

_ I will work on this. You'll do that. _

An underline appeared for the title of a list on the left side of the board. It was a list of thirteen potions, the first six already struck through as if they were complete. The next one to be done: Dreamless Sleep.

Hermione got straight to work on a double batch. In the space of two hours, she finished three potions from his list, and he was bottling his project at the same time she was jarring a burn paste. When she struck that potion from the list, he came to look over her results and frowned as he gestured to the extra bottle of Dreamless Sleep.

"I can pay for the ingredients," she said hastily.

He shook his head and cast at the blackboard:  _ This should be administered, or at least prescribed, by a Healer. Is it for yourself? _

Hermione nodded, and in a very small voice she admitted, "I expect to need it when I start sleeping alone."

For another long minute, he scowled and stared again. This time she met his gaze, but she had her mental barriers up, and he didn't push on them. Finally, he opened his mouth and said, just as quietly, "Come here when you need it."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then on the exhale said, "Thank you."

\----------

Severus spent the rest of the morning answering Miss Granger's questions about the first- and second-year curriculum, the pros and cons of a strict approach to classroom management, and his experience as a Potions Master's apprentice. He answered her questions about teaching with an enchanted blackboard on wheels, and she repaid his thorough answers by helping him with this trial run of communicating with a ward full of patients.

The questions about his apprenticeship were more personal, and he was less comfortable answering them. He summoned his thesis from the small library in the lab, and they sat down in his office so she could peruse it while he continued to work on correspondence. Or at least, he pretended to work while he watched her. She was totally focused on her task, and he was safe to consider the issue of the day. It didn't surprise him one bit that she was plagued by nightmares, nor did it surprise him that she found some comfort in being held at night.

He could use a little comfort like that. It was pathetic, really, the way Minerva had been the only one to hug him lately, for the first time in years, and it was only after she had gotten herself good and drunk and poured her heart out apologizing for the mistrust she had shown while he was Headmaster. Despite his assuring her that he and Dumbledore had intentionally manipulated that mistrust in her and everyone, she had put her arms around him and begged forgiveness, and his touch-starved body broke down to weep with her.

That was the only night since June he didn't have any nightmares himself.

However, the Dreamless Sleep potion was both habit-forming and provided diminishing returns with subsequent use. It simply didn't work on him anymore, so he was rather sensitive to the idea that someone might build a tolerance and then not have the option when they really need it. As he pondered the problem, he summoned a fresh sheet of parchment and began making some notes. An improved Dreamless Sleep would be a boon to many, and also had the scope of an apprentice's capstone project.

Then he started  _ another _ sheet to document the duty hours Miss Granger spent in his domain. He wouldn't put it past Slughorn to magically monitor her presence in the dungeons and even clock her time to the minute. He would probably do the same, if he took on an apprentice any less dedicated than Hermione Granger. But the girl's dedication was never in question. Only her creativity. That's why he wasn't going to offer up the Dreamless Sleep idea on a silver platter. Not yet. She should be able to think of it herself, not least from her own pressing need.

The following week, Miss Granger moved into the castle. She did not return to the infirmary until Friday morning, exactly one week after their prior brewing session. He met her out between the cots again and glanced at the store cupboard, thinking of the Dreamless Sleep, but she handed him a small envelope bearing Slughorn's wax seal.

_ Severus, _

_ Please continue to log the time Miss Granger spends working on healing potions for your inventory. I have cleared her other duties for Fridays in August. _

_ Horace _

Severus looked up and raised an eyebrow as he assessed Miss Granger. She stood very still, not giving away any nervousness. She said steadily, "You can say no. I tried to tell him he should have asked in person, but I think he's intimidated by how you say more with your glares than your words."

An odd feeling bubbled up in his gut. He couldn't quite tell... was it laughter? It felt ridiculous, like... a giggle. His lips twitched into some kind of smirk as he pushed down the feeling and thought through the suggested arrangement. It wasn't unheard of for a Potions Master to lend out their apprentice to another, and he couldn't deny that her potions were adequate. It would free up his time for more difficult cases from St. Mungo's, and she clearly didn't fear any of her former authority figures anymore.

Her eagerness and his experience could team up to get some impressive work done. Her brashness and his subtlety could be a powerful duo for making Slughorn think twice about a few things. Last week they had worked well enough together. Gone was the bossy swot who nearly levitated out of her chair with the need to prove herself. In her place was this jaded survivor who only spoke when necessary for the work or to take a dig at a lax professor.

There really wasn't a downside. Still, for her sake, he made a show of frowning at the parchment carrying Slughorn's request, but then softening his expression before he nodded.

Severus developed a routine through August, working most days simply through correspondence with St. Mungo's. On Fridays, he brewed alongside Miss Granger, who thankfully kept her inquiries to a minimum and didn't expect him to speak at all. At meals, with her at his left and Minerva at his right, he was no longer quite so anxious to shovel his food and bail out. He maybe even lingered longer than necessary, feeling secure between the two people who had done best reading his nonverbal cues since June.

The day before students returned, he caught himself wallowing in melancholy as he prepared for bed. The end of the Friday brewing sessions gave him a pang of grief he didn't understand. Miss Granger would still be nearby, but performing other duties. He would see her at meals. He could simply ask her to find another time if he really felt he needed the assistance. Hell, the girl was probably kind enough to join him socially if he dared to suggest it.

Oh  _ fuck _ he was pathetic! The first woman under the age of fifty to show him some kindness, the first since Lily, and all he could think about was taking advantage of her good nature to weasel more time with her. The ache in his heart wasn't the only yearning he had developed while thinking about her, and self-loathing washed over him as he took himself in his hand. Maybe he'd feel better after a quick release. Maybe not. Either way, he wished he could call out her name without searing pain in his throat.


	2. A Weekend In September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: This is the chapter where the archive warning Rape/Non-Con applies because of Ronald's daft idea to get Hermione to enjoy sex.

Hermione was having a terrible month. The first of September was incredibly nerve-wracking, and she could feel Healer Snape's eyes on her every time she applauded those sorted to Slytherin. She applauded all the new first-years equally. Shouldn't she? She wasn't a Head of House. She'd be teaching all of them in Potions. As a former Head of Slytherin, his greater enthusiasm for that House was expected, and she tried not to read too much into her own reactions.

She hadn't slept much, as she decided to wait until school began before she'd ask Snape for any Dreamless Sleep. Through August, she had grown accustomed to the nightmares of sleeping alone and catching up on real rest every weekend. Ron had been pleased to lie in, pressing his morning wood into her lazily, slowly making love. She didn't fake her orgasms anymore. She simply didn't have them. She liked all the touching. Ron had very nice hands and soft skin over toned muscles, and she made appreciative sounds when he gave her that intimacy, but she wasn't overcome with passion. She didn't need to see stars and hear angels sing every time she had sex. Hermione loved Ron, and if he was happy, she should be happy too.

Right?

Then she started teaching, and she was exhausted on a level she hadn't known before, not even while on the run. She was suddenly responsible for a few dozen children, and she didn't even have a full class load. The change from student to teacher was drastic, heart-wrenching, and left her crying into her pillow every night. She developed a fresh batch of nightmares about feeling ill-prepared for handling and supporting and  _ loving _ these children who had just made it through a war.

Everything Slughorn asked her to do paled in comparison to those contact hours with the 11- and 12-year-olds. When she worked on the traditional tasks of an apprentice, it was just him and her, and she could emotionally detach herself from her work and her master. But when she stood up at the front of that classroom, she felt the weight of an entire generation on her shoulders. In the past, she had helped her classmates but always put her own performance first. Now, she looked into those innocent eyes and couldn't think of herself at all. She was so happy to have the weekends, to have the clean divide between professional and personal life. Remaining at Hogwarts, consumed with that life, would have been too much.

The third weekend of September was her nineteenth birthday. After her last class of second years on Friday afternoon, she was excused to enjoy her weekend. Ron would be off work in time for their dinner date, so she had a few hours to kill before then. First, she indulged in a bath, soaking for nearly an hour and relaxing for the first time since the Welcoming Feast. She cleaned up, charmed away the dark circles under her eyes, and dressed in a casual but feminine skirt and blouse.

Ron was supposed to pick her up at the Three Broomsticks at 5 o'clock, take a walk up the High Road, and then go to some mystery restaurant in London.

It was five-thirty when Hermione set her empty butterbeer on Rosmerta's bar and sighed. Ron had only stood her up once before. It was probably an honest mistake, but it really hit her in the insecurity of his abandonment during the war. She'd forgiven him then, after a proper scolding. She'd forgiven their last missed date, after tearfully explaining why it hurt so much.

She wasn't so sure she could forgive him again.

Hermione also wasn't so sure where to go next as she stepped toward the door. Molly would welcome her, but she didn't want to start the weekend with  _ everyone _ angry at Ron. She could try to pop in on Harry and Ginny, but they still hadn't figured out how to get Walburga Black's portrait off the wall, and Hermione didn't feel like being yelled at for her blood status.

Trudging her way back to the castle, Hermione wasn't sure where she'd go there, either. She didn't want to be alone in her rooms. She didn't particularly like Slughorn, and she really didn't want to impose on his official position as her mentor. Minerva had supervision rounds on Friday evenings. She couldn't really picture Snape  _ hanging out _ with her, and she'd be mortified to ask. Hagrid, maybe. Hagrid would cheer her up.

She wasn't so sure she wanted to be cheered up. That's what Ron would have done: try to cheer her up but not actually address any of their problems. Just as her thoughts about Ron turned sour again, she heard him shout behind her, "Hermione! Wait up!"

She stopped, but she didn't turn around quite yet.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione!" he called out, huffing as he sprinted. She turned just as she heard him skid to a halt. He leaned his hands on his own thighs and sucked in a deep breath to calm down. "I was caught up at work. I know you hate that, and I'm sorry." He gestured vaguely toward the castle in the distance. "Not all of us can just say,  _ class dismissed, _ and be done for the day."

Hermione grimaced. Minerva had warned her, at one point, that a lot of the work of an educator would be ignored and even demeaned because everyone had been a student and most of them didn't realize or didn't care that the contact hours were only one aspect of the job. She did not expect the first person to say such a thing to her face would be Ron. She was doubly annoyed that he ruined a perfectly good apology with it.

Ron held out his hand. "Come on, 'Mione, let's go have a quick drink and then we should still be able to make the reservation in time."

She hesitantly put her hand in his, and he started pulling her along. She begged, "Ron, please, can we take our time? I'm exhausted and I just want to relax with you." She tried to put a promising lilt in her voice as she added, "I like holding hands on a romantic evening walk."

He didn't ease the pace. "But I have a whole weekend planned for you, and I'm starving."

She rolled her eyes. After  _ literally _ starving, she really hated the careless use of the word. Still, he was here, he was sorry for making her wait, and she didn't want to ruin her own birthday weekend. She said stiffly, "Then let's just go eat."

They were on time for their reservation after all, but the conversation over the meal was awkward, and eventually Hermione just zoned out. She decided to think about potions, rather than become painfully aware of Ron's talking with his mouth full and loudly commenting on the glitz of the restaurant. Apparently he picked it because the Head Auror suggested it as the best date spot in London, and Ron was eager to do something nice for Hermione with his first paycheck.

That was a nice, safe place to stop listening before he could ruin this sentiment, too.

Ron shoveled the last of his meal as she sipped a fruity cocktail. Expecting alcohol to make her even more tired, she was quite surprised at the pick-me-up she felt from the fresh fruit juice. She could feel herself flush from the booze, and her hands twitched in time with Ron's chewing. Just before ordering dessert, Hermione popped into the loo. She didn't need to pee. Just...  _ move _ . She leaned over the vanity counter and examined her reflection closely. The charm on her eyes was fading. Hermione gulped. She could show him how she was already burning out. Snape had warned her, and she  _ should _ have listened. Ron loved her, and he  _ would _ listen.

Right?

When she returned to their table, a new glass was waiting, and Hermione considered it carefully. A third drink in three hours should be fine, but she reached for her water and drained it first. As she tipped the glass up, she saw Ron staring.

He blushed when he realized he'd been caught. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just thinking how I've missed you this week. I hope you want to go home and cuddle later."

Hermione set down the glass and smiled warmly. Then she picked up the cocktail and sipped. It looked like the fruity one she already had, but it tasted more floral. Still nice. It also hit her with warmth right away, and she felt her lips pulling up to a proper grin, and she teased, "Maybe more than a cuddle?"

Dessert arrived before he could reply. Fruits with dips: cream, chocolate, and more. She was pleasantly filled from the meal, and she was starting to feel again like she needed to move, so she slowly drank her cocktail and watched Ron's hands with a different kind of hunger. She liked the way he touched her and held her, but she had never before been jealous of his food while he stuffed his face.

That was an odd notion.

In fact, she was becoming a bit aroused as she considered the phrase  _ eating pussy _ and whether she could suggest that was an option if he needed another dessert. No, he had never once expressed an interest in that sex act, and she was pretty sure any attempt at innuendo on the topic would only come out condescending. Snapely, even. She grinned. He hadn't been anything but professional this summer, but she wondered if he'd give her some brilliant pointers on that particular brand of humiliating snark.

Gods, she was horny and thinking about Snape. Something must be wrong with her.

Ron was a little too obvious about making sure she was watching when he paid the bill, but she was distracted by his strong, elegant hands counting the coins. She had a random thought about wizard's chess holding no appeal to her because he commanded the pieces instead of touching them. The moment they were free, she snatched up his hand and gripped it tightly. Just outside the restaurant, he smiled at her and asked, "Ready for that romantic evening walk?"

He apparated both of them, and when they reappeared across space and time, the scene stole Hermione's breath away. They stood near the foot of a small waterfall, tucked in a gleaming dark stone grotto with a packed-dirt path leading alongside the stream that flowed away around a corner. The overcast sky gave an impression of privacy, and the temperature was rather warmer than their normal climate. It was so romantic. Her mind raced with gushing adoration for his thoughtfulness. After a minute, she found her voice. "Where are we?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Ginny suggested it when I asked for a place to be alone with you. The Burrow is home but it's... crowded." He grinned at her.

Some voice in the back of her mind was telling her that  _ Hogwarts _ was home, and had been since she was twelve, but she was still reeling from the pleasant surprise. She threw her arms around Ron and squeezed him tightly. A cool breeze of fresh air kissed their skin, and she breathed it deeply, and then she tucked her nose into Ron's hair and revelled in the sage-and-herbs blend of his preferred grooming products. After a minute she pulled back and kissed him soundly.

And then they were on fire, kissing and groping just close enough to the waterfall to catch a bit of the mist to cool them down. Hermione drew her wand and conjured some blankets to cushion the hard stone, and she pushed Ron down to the ground. She straddled his lap, and in between heated kisses they stripped off all their clothes. She hadn't felt so aroused... ever. "Touch me," she gasped, in between moans. "I love your hands."

He groaned and put them to work kneading her breasts. She used her own to guide him inside her. Then  _ he _ gasped, and  _ she _ groaned, and together they moved. Hermione flexed her legs and hips to ride him, and his hands, those perfect amazing hands, held her and guided her. She felt light-headed, and she was getting close.

"Slow down," Ron hissed, strong fingers flexing into her hips.

Feeling those hands working her hips gave her a head rush. Instead of reducing her fervor, it made her keen in pleasure and increase her speed. Her blood was pumping, whooshing in her ears almost the same as the roar of the waterfall. Not long now...

"Mione!" Ron called out, echoing off the stone. He put his arms around her and shuddered, burying his face in her cleavage as he came.

She tried to keep moving. She was almost there. She trembled in his arms but couldn't get enough leverage with how tightly he gripped her. His erection softened, and slipped out of her. He didn't lift his head from her chest. Poor boy was probably embarrassed by his loss of control, but Hermione was way beyond caring and begged, "Ron, please. Ron, touch me, please. Put your fingers in me and keep going.  _ Lick _ me. Please!"

This last  _ please _ echoed through the grotto, and Ron looked up with a bemused expression. "I knew you'd be gagging for it, but you're not normally bossy in bed."

She scrambled off him, leaning back on the blankets and spreading her legs wide in invitation. "Well of course I'm gagging for it. I was so close..." She snapped her knees together and glared. "What do you mean you  _ knew _ I'd be gagging for it?"

Ron blushed bright red, from the roots of his hair down past his neck.

Hermione's mind was whirling, even as she found his coloring far too attractive. She'd been infatuated with his hands all night, and she was properly aroused for the first time in her life. Her emotional response was through the roof, even after he had been so rude. And all this had hit her like a freight train at dessert. No... after the floral drink. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, what have you done?"

He gulped, and then he said, so quietly she could barely hear over the crashing water on the dark rocks, "Making sure you'd see all the things you like about me."

Roses. Roses were an ingredient in about half the known love potions. "You dosed my drink," she spat, trying not to think of how cute he looked when he was amazed by her brilliance. Hermione waved her wand to summon her clothes and blinked back the tears threatening to spill down her face.

He reached for his clothes with a frown. "You've been unhappy. I know, and I know I can be a prat. I just wanted you to enjoy yourself for your birthday. Ginny said you talked once about how potions can help a couple with, erm, intimacy."

Hermione could feel all the heat leave her. The cool mist of the waterfall was no longer a relief from the passionate heat but an uncomfortable chill on her oversensitized skin. She didn't know what to be most angry about, and the potion was doing its damnedest to make her forget every single reason. There was one above all the others, and she ground out, "What potion was it?"

Ron blushed again, and she trembled with the strength it took to keep from throwing her arms around him again.

"You don't even know?"

He shook his head.

She had to get out of here. Her body was still itching, her thoughts wandering to his hands again. No. NO. Hermione gathered up her fury and sneered, "Don't ever touch me or my drinks again." Ron opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't want to give him any more chances to endear himself to her in this state. She apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

\----------

Severus was brewing, as he usually was on Fridays. Apparently, the latest model of Cleansweeps had shoddy anti-vibration charms, and far too many wizards were falling and shattering their bones, requiring removal and Skele-Gro.

He was just bottling a large batch of the potion when Slughorn knocked on his door. "Severus, glad I found you! Do you keep any antidotes for love potions stocked here?"

He shook his head. Not until February.

Slughorn frowned. "Miss Granger is in a right state. She says she could taste the rose, but otherwise doesn't know what she drank."

Severus' heart leapt into his throat. Someone had dosed Miss Granger with an unknown love potion?

The other Potions Master donned a thoughtful look. "Ah, well... she's already brewing the whole battery of antidotes. I have rounds, so I'm off!"

As Slughorn walked away, Severus finished bottling the Skele-Gro and thought through the situation. Miss Granger was dosed with one of possibly a dozen different love potions. She'd be at it for ten hours, at least, and that's if her attention span held up against the compulsion. He had to admit he was curious what her behavior would be like under such influence, but he most certainly didn't want to hear her gush over another man.

Submitting to the inevitable, Severus made his way to the dungeons. Slughorn's wards on his private lab were easy enough to disable, and when he stepped inside, he saw Miss Granger at one of the well-lit workbenches, facing away as she brewed in three cauldrons at once. The blackboard that dominated the wall next to the door had the list of potential love potions and their antidotes. Two were already struck out.

Without looking, the young woman hissed, "I asked to be alone."

"Did you?" he rasped.

Her head craned sideways to glare daggers at him. "Merlin and all the gods, please go away."

Severus hung back by the door, ready to leave if she decided to forget her manners and hex him. Over the next ten minutes, he watched her finish two of the potions, set samples into an array of vials with one other already finished, and bottle the remaining doses. Then she cast  _ scourgify _ on the soiled cauldrons and let them scrub as she turned around. Her hair was charmingly wild again, curling slightly with her deep breaths.

But there was no charm to the fierce look in her tired eyes, or the way she growled, "Get out before I throw myself at you."

His lips twitched as he fought against a smirk. He should warn her that such a statement sounded more like a promise than a threat. But now that she was facing him, he could see the beads of sweat on her forehead and the tremor in her hand. It was amazing she was able to brew three potions at once. He flicked his wand at the blackboard, striking through two of the possible love potions on her list, and then writing an explanation before she could balk.

_ These require ingredients from the brewer's body that tie the effect exclusively to the brewer. If you are throwing yourself at the nearest possible partner, then it is not either of those. _

"You  _ are _ brilliant."

His eyes snapped to hers, and his widened as hers softened.

"Severus," she crooned, and he gulped, grimacing at how this anxious reflex pained him. Surely his name had never sounded like  _ that _ before. Like a purr. But then the tremor in her hand increased to a proper shake, and she hid her face behind it and begged, "Please leave."

She turned around entirely, showing her back to him. He couldn't blame her. She was smart and strong and fighting the compulsion well enough to know that she didn't want him.

It only hurt his pride a little.

While she began preparing ingredients for the next antidote, he managed to say clearly, "I'll be in my lab," before hastily making his way there. Since he was in the dungeons, he popped into his living quarters first, choosing some light reading from his bedside table in case he was in for a long night where he promised to be. He had some doubts about his original estimate of ten hours, but he should at least have time to freshen up, so he stepped into his little private bathroom and took a glance in the mirror.

He sneered at his reflection. Severus knew he was not attractive, but he probably should have glanced at the mirror  _ before _ going to Miss Granger tonight. The bags under his eyes belied the lack of rest from his nightmares, and his hair was extra-greasy after his evening brewing session. He normally wore high collars to spare everyone the view of his scars, but he had undone the top buttons while he was brewing earlier, and in his haste to assist Miss Granger, he forgot all about them. No wonder she covered her eyes. Even under the influence of a love potion, a woman couldn't stand to look at him. He scowled, straightened his clothes, and turned on his heel, finally heading back to the hospital wing.

After considering the option of brewing one of the potions from her list and delivering it, Severus decided it was better to leave her alone as she requested, and he made himself comfortable on one of the patient beds. This was an improvement he had done almost immediately after taking over the ward. There was no excuse for the discomfort of the previous cots. They had  _ magic _ for Merlin's sake, and he could transfigure a more practical bed for extreme needs of his patients as those needs arose. So far, the only overnight guest of the infirmary was Severus himself, and he wanted a comfortable bed.

He must have dozed off, for it seemed like he had barely lain back when a chime alerted him to someone arriving, and the first thing he had to do was lift his book from where he dropped it on his chest. Glancing at the clock (not quite midnight), he slowly gathered his wits and sat up straight, looking just in time to see Miss Granger walk past toward the lab door. Severus hesitated. When he set up the privacy screens for the beds, he only wanted to block the view from the main entrance, but this meant she walked right past him, and he had a chance to size her up before she became aware of his presence.

She was moving with certainty and grace, no sign at all of her prior distress. Her hair was still frizzy but no longer  _ breathing _ with the magic of her upset emotions. She appeared as though one of the antidotes must have worked, though coming here willingly might mean that she was still under the influence.

Severus stepped closer and rapped his knuckles on the footboard of the bed, to warn her before he got too close.

Miss Granger spun around, and he saw her hand twitch as if preparing to draw her wand. But then recognition sparked in her big brown eyes, and she said, "You really waited up? Thank you. That was not necessary. I only waited long enough between doses to be sure I didn't have a bad response, so I'm not entirely sure which of them was the right one. I got through six of them before I felt like I could stand still again, and after two more I no longer felt –" She blushed. "– needy."

He was impressed that she kept her head through it, severely doubting that, say,  _ Slughorn _ could have brewed ten antidotes in one evening after being dosed. He himself would probably need all his strength as an Occlumens to do what she had done. He cast at the rolling blackboard and brought it close, standing in front of it so he could watch her read. Then he flicked his wand to write:  _ Do you require a Healer's exam? _

She blinked with surprise. "I don't think so. Is that normally needed after taking a love potion?"

_ Non-consensual administration of a love potion is a criminal offense. A Healer's signature on a report for M.L.E. would be valuable evidence to the Wizengamot. _

"Oh," she said softly, eyes drifting to the floor as she frowned and thought it over. Severus waited nearly two full minutes before his patience was rewarded. She met his gaze steadily as she asked, "What would you check?"

_ • Various physiological responses. _ _  
_ _ • Traces of the expected compounds from the ingredients, both the dose and your antidotes. _ _  
_ _ • Evidence of rape. This one requires undressing. _

"Can we skip the last one?"

He nodded. Of course she wouldn't want to get naked for him.

"I mean, we had sex, but it wasn't out of the blue, and I wouldn't have said no if he just  _ asked _ instead of doing something this daft. I don't want to report to the M.L.E., but I'm curious about the results you'll find on the first two points."

Severus could feel his blood chill as she spoke about sex with the mystery man. Was she still dating Weasley? He'd ring that boy's neck. He'd make the little wanker suffer. He'd... probably wind up on the wrong end of the M.L.E. investigation.

"Should I lie down or something?"

The answer was no, but she was already hopping up onto the nearest bed. He began to cast the test spells, and he noted each result on the blackboard.

After a minute, she closed her eyes, and she said, "When you showed me your capstone thesis, I knew right away I wasn't going to ask why you had chosen to improve Wolfsbane. It's really none of my business."

That was an odd change of subject, but also a relief that she didn't feel the need to pry. At the time he hardly understood it himself. Now that he had a couple of decades to think about it, he had a better idea of why he was driven to control  _ some _ aspect of his near-death experience at the hands of the Marauders. Master Belby, as one of very few masters who could brew it at all, was quite enthusiastic that Severus wanted to streamline the seven-day process so they could all work on other projects. 

Miss Granger continued, "Now I don't need to ask. It makes perfect sense, really. And for mine, I am going to unify the theories behind love potions and create a better antidote."

Severus paused his casting, wand hovering over her heart.

She opened her eyes. "Something wrong?"

Knowing the k-sound would catch painfully in his throat, he said aloud, "Master Selket's Opus."

Miss Granger's eyes lit up, and Severus felt a little pang of longing that dulled the sharp stab from speaking. This girl was so enamored with learning that she delighted in his short responses, more like little clues than true explanations. It was a strange sort of conversation, but he  _ liked _ it. She was so quiet at mealtimes, when everyone else spoke, and now he was starting to understand why. Her chatter was not at all like the inane mealtime gossip, and she proved it once again when she said, "He's famous for stasis charms. Oh! Because he had thousands of permutations to preserve for testing?"

Severus nodded and resumed his spell scans for trace elements, writing them on the blackboard as they were confirmed.

"I expected rose petals and pearl dust," she said, "but thank you for finding the trace of moonstone. That does narrow it down to three or four known potions. I didn't know there was a spell to test for that. Honestly, I should have come here  _ before _ brewing all those antidotes."

He nodded again, and he wrote the incantations on the board, since he was performing them nonverbally.

A coy little grin graced her face. "You might have had to stun me, though. One look at you and all I wanted was... well, you know."

Severus was frozen in place. He felt like she had reached inside his chest and clamped her fist around his heart. She could own it. She could crush it. If she dismissed him now, twice denying him, he wasn't sure what he would do.

"That reminds me..." She reached into a pocket and retrieved a small, rolled up parchment, offering it to him. "These were my ideas for the capstone before tonight. I'd still like to do them all eventually, and I think it might be wise to have a backup for my more ambitious new project."

The intense squeezing sensation in his chest finally loosened, and he took the proffered scroll.

_ Heal Curse Scars (just hide them?) _ _  
_ _ Refine Memory Potion for Long-Term Obliviate _ _  
_ _ Improve Dreamless Sleep: dependency, potency, restfulness _ __  
_ Draught of Peace without Unicorn Horn _ _  
_ _ Heal Nerve Damage -- is this why Healer Snape doesn't speak? _

Fighting a slight shake of his hand, Severus read the list several times. Five projects worthy of a Potions Master. Three that would provide direct benefit to him. One clearly labeled with that intent.

Severus was speechless, and not just because of the nerve damage.

Miss Granger fidgeted on the bed, drawing his gaze. "Healer Snape, could I come back on Sunday, to discuss the love potions before I take my pitch to Master Slughorn?"

Before he could overthink it, he said quietly, "It's Severus."

She smiled for him. His heart was going to pound right out of his chest. She could probably hear it. "Severus, then," she said so softly it was almost a whisper. It wasn't the seductive purr from earlier tonight, but rather like honey, sticking sweetly to his memory and tempting him to elicit another taste of it. "Thank you for everything."

It was all he could do to nod once, and then she left.

\----------

Well, that was mortifying. Just when Hermione thought the wizarding world couldn't surprise her, couldn't make her feel like anything less than a brilliant and capable witch, Ronald bloody Weasley had to go and prove she was still a bumbling outsider with a lot to learn. And for Severus Snape to have to help her,  _ to save her again, _ she was so embarrassed.

Not least because she couldn't help noticing the way he smelled like sage and had strong, elegant hands.

Merlin.

He wasn't such a sour git anymore, and it was a lot easier to like him when he didn't constantly berate everyone for the smallest slights. She had to admit, if you watched closely enough, you could still see all that and more in his increasingly expressive smirks, glares, and raised eyebrows. It was even a bit amusing, when it wasn't directed at her, and downright flattering when he subtly supported her opinions in front of Slughorn.

Bloody hell, Slughorn. When Slughorn came into the lab to see why she was at the castle on a Friday night, all she wanted was to snuggle up on some velvet upholstery and share a crystallized pineapple treat. When she realized what this meant about her reaction to literally anyone who walked through that door, she nearly vomited her supper onto their feet. Fortunately Slughorn had only questioned her for a minute, provided no assistance other than honoring her request for privacy, and then left.

Severus managed to help her without making her feel alone, or worse, totally daft. Hermione wondered if he had any friends. Close friends. The kind of friends that would stand together, come hell or high water, racking up and paying off their life debts until no one knew the count. She thought she had friends like that, but now she wasn't so sure. She certainly never wanted to see Ronald Weasley again.

Hermione spent the rest of the weekend ignoring owls from all the Weasleys. On Sunday morning, she also ignored her birthday post from Harry and her parents. After the meal, she had just sat down across the desk from Severus in his office when the Howler arrived, and Ron's voice exclaimed,  _ You can't just hide on your birthday! You've already missed all the other plans, so I'm coming up to the castle – _

She was looking down at her lap when the damned thing exploded, and she quickly raised her head to see Severus tucking his wand up his sleeve.

Hermione grinned sheepishly. "Thanks. And, sorry."

A miniature blackboard propped up at his edge of the desk began showing her his spiky script:  _ If it is your birthday, you should do as you please. _

She could have kissed him. All weekend she felt selfish and cold, and maybe it wasn't saying much that Severus Snape was the one validating those particular feelings, but it made her happy anyway. "I already made the one plan I actually wanted today."

He stared. She fidgeted. Did he want her to leave? Maybe it was awkward to make this kind of appointment without telling him it was her birthday. This guessing game made her nervous. Finally, he looked down at his desk, pulled a fresh parchment, and wrote a short note. He held it up so she could read it.

_ Minerva, _

_ If any Weasleys come to the gate to see Miss Granger today, will you kindly turn them away? _

_ Severus _

Hermione couldn't believe her luck. Just two days ago she started considering him a good friend, and today he was proving a quite valuable one. She tugged the parchment away from him and held out her hand for the quill. Then she added a quick  _ Thanks from Hermione _ underneath Severus' signature, and then gave it back to him.

He nodded his approval, folded the note, and slipped it into a tray on the corner of his desk. It immediately disappeared, and Hermione threw him a questioning look. He cast to the mini-board.

_ All professors will have these by the holiday break. Minerva never liked birds as much as Albus did. _

Picturing the cat animagus pouncing on an owl, Hermione offered a little chuckle and got to business. They were so engrossed in their discussion of love potions, they missed lunch. As dinner approached, a note appeared in the message tray.

_ Severus, _

_ Sorry to interrupt. Just checking that Hermione is still with you. Mister Weasley did not go quietly. No doubt the Great Hall will be roaring with gossip tonight. Shall I have the house elves send supper and cake? _

_ Minerva _

Hermione grimaced, and then looked at the clock. "Wow, I'm sorry I took your whole day. It's probably best to face the whispers of nasty rumor with my chin up. I'll be off now."

"Hermione," he gasped, before she could turn away. "Happy birthday."

She smiled. "Thanks to you, it was."


	3. Fridays in October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains a scene where Hermione describes using mass spectronomy to analyze potions ingredients. The first time I saw such a thing in a fic was Anna's Roman Holiday. That fic had a huge influence on me in the early days of the fandom. Strong recommend. You may have to access it with the Wayback: https://web.archive.org/web/20080120002034/http://www.witchfics.org/anna/romanholiday/index.html

The rest of September was not much better for Hermione. The Weasleys kept sending owls, so Hermione finally sent one back. It was a quick note to Ron, asking him to leave her alone, and threatening to take a Healer's report to M.L.E. if he didn't. She laid it on thick, praising his career choice and lamenting what a shame it would be if his own supervisor had to investigate him.

The owls stopped by the first of October. Now if only the wild speculation around the breakup would stop, she could somehow move on with her life.

She threw herself into her work, attending the 7th year potions and herbology courses, teaching the first- and second-year potions classes, and reading everything she could get her hands on regarding love potions. The trouble, Hermione decided, was the extensive variety of roses. Prior to the invention of the hybrid tea rose, there were only four documented love potions, and only two of them used roses. Now there were dozens, and more than two thirds of them used roses. In the 1800s, the sorceress Laverne de Montmorency was not satisfied with the infatuation provided by the rose petals, so she experimented with lust potions utilizing the thorns. The proportion of the rose ingredients was roughly correlated to the potency, but so was the depth of any prior relationship between the victim and the assailant.

She wasn't mincing words anymore in her notes. Once upon a time she had a romantic notion of love potions as an intimacy aid for committed couples. Scouring the history of the brews made it quite plain that this was never the intent. Everyone who ever invented a love potion was trying to ensnare a new partner, and generally it was one who already spurned the brewer's more honest attempts.

It made Hermione ill. It made her rage. It made her sense of justice cry out for a better answer.

It also gave her more intense nightmares, and on the eighth day of October, she finished up with her last class of second-years and headed to the hospital wing. Severus was brewing, and Hermione felt a little pang of loss, reminded of their Fridays in August, in mostly-silence, doing good work to help those suffering from illness or injury. Hermione's resolve steeled further. Her project was about recovering from a different sort of injury.

Right now, she needed some relief herself. "Sorry to bother you," she said softly, "but I think tonight I need the Dreamless Sleep."

He gave her a steady look. She searched for the sneer and did not find it. He cast to the blackboard:  _ Choose a cot. I'll be with you in five minutes. _ Then he turned back to his cauldron.

For a moment, Hermione was dumbstruck. Surely he wasn't going to make her sleep  _ here _ when she had a perfectly good bed in her own quarters? And it was still so early, mid-afternoon. So she lingered to watch him, trying to identify what he was brewing. She wanted to be a Potions Master, and this seemed like an interesting test of her knowledge.

From this distance she couldn't see much, just the outside of the size four silver cauldron. Though plenty of potions  _ could _ be brewed in such a cauldron, she only knew one potion that  _ must _ use one: Wolfsbane. However, she was also fairly certain that this weekend was a new moon, not a full moon, and the smell wasn't nearly as vile. It didn't smell like anything, actually, or at least nothing that could pierce through the sage-heavy blend of herbs strung up near the ceiling. Severus had his wand held over the open top, monitoring the temperature. It was cooling. In fact it was  _ cold _ and getting colder, if he was using the standard spell for this purpose. When the brew came down near freezing, he cast a stasis charm and reached for a large glass silver bottle.

Potion bottled and cauldron scrubbed, Severus turned to face Hermione and gave her a proper glare.

She ducked her head, unsure if she was more embarrassed about failing her self-imposed quiz or being caught staring. She said, "I didn't recognize it."

He cast at the blackboard:  _ It's an experiment. _

Hermione was immediately filled with relief, and she shuffled back out of the lab to the infirmary, ready to do as she was told if it meant a chance to talk about their respective experiments. She hopped up onto the nearest bed, and Severus pulled the rolling blackboard behind him, so that she could read it over his shoulder.

_ How much sleep have you had this week? _

"Oh, erm," Hermione paused to think about how to best explain it. She whispered, "I think every REM cycle is interrupted by a fresh new hell."

_ Is it only the nightmares, or have you also been ill? _

She thought it over. She was under a lot of stress, but it wasn't like she'd caught some bug. She said firmly, "I have not been ill."

_ Any contact with a dark curse? _

"No."

He regarded her for a moment and then summoned the extra bottle of the potion she made in August, and she promptly tucked it into a pocket while he wrote again.

_ If you need more than this dose for tonight, you'll have to engage in talk therapy to deal with the nightmares. Normally I would suggest a professional therapist, but given your notoriety and extreme past experience, I will accept a note from any friend or mentor you trust. _

She did not want to have to describe the night terrors aloud. What really happened was bad enough, and she didn't much care for the idea of putting voice to the twisted new angles of it she saw at night. Hermione held eye contact with him and asked, "Can't I just show you how bad they are?" He of all people had a chance of understanding what he'd see without her having to say a word.

He looked away. That was interesting. Hermione knew he was perfectly capable of viewing whatever she dared to remember, but he was not allowing it. Hermione supposed he had his own nightmares and no interest in seeing hers. He cast again at the blackboard.

_ It's not about the severity. It's about how you process the trauma. Dreamless Sleep is a bandage at best. You need a confidant. Minerva says you have hardly spoken to her since your contract negotiations. Horace says you only speak to him professionally. During meals, Filius talks at you, but you do not respond any more than necessary. You recently ended a romantic relationship, and you do not answer your owls. Who can you talk to? _

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She was so busy with her studies and her work, honestly it was a relief not to have to tiptoe around Ron's ego anymore. But the rest of them... She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. "Would you accept a note from Harry?"

Severus nodded once, and Hermione was pleased that he had nothing nasty to say. No sneer. No pained grimace. She was quite impressed by his professional detachment despite all their muddy history.

"I'll write to him and ask to see him this weekend. For today..." She felt a smile tugging at her lips. "Could I possibly talk to you? Not about the nightmares; I'm sorry for even suggesting you watch any of them. But I have made some progress on my project and would appreciate your opinion. And then I would love to hear about what you were just working on, if you care to share..?"

\----------

Severus wondered if someone slipped  _ him _ a love potion, too, the way he put up with the insufferable girl. First she defied his request that she wait elsewhere, something that would have earned her a detention not too long ago. Then she tempted him to enter her mind, and he had too much of his own traumatic baggage about  _ that _ skill. Finally, she chose Potter, of all people, for a confidant, squashing his desire to share anything with her, just in time for her to ask for exactly that.

Yet, he didn't even hesitate to invite her back to the lab.

She rambled about her project, and he was content to let her talk. This was probably an acceptable way for her to deal with her issues, as she no doubt had all sorts of unpleasant new nightmares related to her birthday weekend. She described her literature review, and how it informed her re-scoping of the project down to the subset of love potions which used roses. "Professor Slughorn insisted that this was still an acceptable project, but it makes me nervous to think I am doing less than what I want."

_ A unified theory of love potions is something you can work on later, when you are a Master with your own apprentices to do the tedious grunt work. Unifying the rose-based potions is more than adequate for a capstone project. _

She gave him a small smile and continued, "The next thing will be analysis of the existing antidotes. I'm anxious to get started, actually, as it will finally involve lab work. I intend to make distillates of every ingredient in every known antidote and perform some tests I have not seen in the literature."

Severus was careful to hide his curiosity. This right here was exactly why Potions Apprentices were encouraged to make new contributions. The fresh eyes on the field could develop an unconventional approach that an experienced master would never have considered. However, she seemed to be waiting for an acknowledgement, so he raised one eyebrow.

"I'll be looking for magical backlash to compulsion spells, but also going muggle with mass spectronomy, attempting to find the common elements."

"Mass what?"

Hermione's smile widened, and Severus anticipated the launch of a know-it-all lecture. He felt the curl of his own lips as she grew more and more animated. He tried for a sneer, but it probably looked more like an idiotic grin as he basked in her genuine excitement. "It's a tool for analyzing a sample on a molecular level. I want to know  _ exactly _ what bit of matter from each ingredient carries the magic, and I want to know  _ exactly _ what common elements and compounds exist in each antidote. Actually I got the idea from the spells you used to identify trace compounds. I read up on the composition of those spells, and I think they work on the same principles."

Severus leaned back in his chair and considered what she just said, likely still grinning like a fool. It was so blasé, almost flippant, the way she described her study of compound detection spells. But she was on to something incredible. If she could find the link between this magic and the muggle tool, good odds that would get her an honorary mastery in charms as well. His own experience with spell creation was all about power and anger, and the resulting spells were not  _ honorable _ in any way. He could feel his expression fall. Tempting as it was to dig into this topic with her, he was not the appropriate expert.

_ Miss Granger, you should speak with Filius. He taught me these spells in July, assisting with my practical preparation for the Healer's credential. _

She looked at the mini-board with a frown. Hadn't she thought to speak to the resident Charms Master at Hogwarts? Did she and he have a falling out? Before he could guess any further at her shock, she turned her big brown eyes to him and said, "If I get to call you Severus, then please call me Hermione."

As he gazed into her eyes, his blood rushed in his ears and his heart pounded in his chest. Gods, he had it  _ bad _ . He opened his mouth and whispered, "Hermione."

She blinked with apparent surprise. "Don't hurt yourself over my name. Please."

Severus shook his head and cast to the mini-board:  _ The pain is mostly from guttural sounds and shouting. These syllables at this volume do not hurt. Quite the opposite. One of MY recurring nightmares is all about silence. _

He held his breath as he watched her read this. She continued staring at the words, and he noted a tremor in her hand when she whispered, "There were so many secrets, and no one we could trust."

Clearly, she wasn't talking about him.

She looked at him again, offering a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll talk to Harry tomorrow. Thank you for suggesting it. Would you mind terribly if I came here for brewing on Fridays, like we did before school? Obviously it would be this time instead of mornings, but..." The smile lifted up a little higher. "I miss that."

He nodded.

"I should go. I've taken more than my share of your time. Goodbye, Severus."

He wanted to reply, but he couldn't. Goodbyes always hurt, now more than ever.

Severus probably stared at the door for a few minutes before he decided to take his own advice. Locking up his office, he went to Minerva's. She was out. Good. He had a portrait to confide in.

\----------

Hermione flooed Harry and went to Grimmauld Place for the night. Ginny kindly gave them privacy. Stories were traded, tears were shed, and then Hermione finally admitted that she needed documentation.

Harry looked as hurt as she expected. "I wish we could have done this before you needed to medicate."

"Me too," she said with a sigh.

"I'm on a daily mood potion, and have been since June," he admitted, reaching for parchment and a quill. "It helps, and I hope this helps you, too. So who's your Healer?"

"I live at Hogwarts. Who do you think?"

"Ah." Harry didn't even flinch. He simply started writing the note. As he did, he said, "You mentioned regretting how we left him at the Shack. I feel the same way. Some of  _ my _ nightmares swap him out with other people I really care about. On bad nights, I've seen you, Ginny, Ron, and countless others bleed to death on that floor."

Hermione blinked back tears as Harry showed her the note.

_ Healer Snape, _

_ Thank you for taking care of Hermione. We had a good talk about her nightmares. Hope you are well. _

_ Harry _

But he didn't give it to her quite yet. "I want to see you at least twice a month, maybe every week. Saturday brunch?"

She could only nod. Then Harry sealed the note magically, and Hermione pocketed it.

By the end of the month she figured out that Harry picked Saturday brunch to have an excuse to come to Hogwarts and watch the quidditch teams fly. He'd come by her quarters for an early cup of tea, and then he'd cajole her into walking him to the pitch. At first she was upset, and only did it to keep getting her potion on weekends. It turned out to be great, though, having a chance to talk in private, and then a little fresh air and perspective after the tough talk. When she realized he did this on purpose, she felt horribly guilty for doubting his original motives, and she decided to pay more attention to the sport. Harry suggested that an appreciation for quidditch would be mandatory if she had any career dreams at Hogwarts that included becoming a Head of House. He was probably right. Again.

Meanwhile, Fridays were quickly becoming Hermione's favorite day of the week. In the morning, she would prepare for the day's classes, plan more lessons long-term, and then she had her second-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. After lunch she had the rest of the second-years, and then she would head to the hospital wing.

The rest of the week, her brewing was for Slughorn and her capstone project. On Fridays, she brewed for the infirmary, tag-teaming Severus' lists of the most tedious potions he needed to stock. He graciously documented the time as duty hours for her apprenticeship. She was grateful for the change of scene, the quiet companionship, and the feeling of making something much more useful than whatever whim Slughorn set for her tasks. 

Mid-month, they finished their tedious healing potions early, and Hermione asked after Severus' experiment. She hadn't seen it since that first glance at the silver cauldron, and she still didn't know what it was.

He gave her a long, searching look, and she met his gaze steadily, no longer worried that he was trying to read her. She was pants at Occlumency, but skilled enough to know if he was trying, and he simply wasn't. Finally, with a pained expression, he said aloud, "Single-dose Wolfsbane."

Then he turned away to cast a stasis charm and clean up his workstation, while several thoughts raced through Hermione's mind at once. First was the immense practicality of it: The current seven-dose regimen every month was one of the biggest factors in Wolfsbane's lack of accessibility. Next was the rush of possible differences from the current potion, not least of which being the initial brewing stage during the new moon. Finally, the sheer brilliance of it. "That's amazing," she breathed. "You'll let me know if I can help?"

Finished with his cleanup, Severus turned back and nodded.

"Maybe there is a way I can help, indirectly," she said softly, reaching into her robes for a folded parchment. "I have an idea I wanted to share with you." Her hand shook a tiny bit as she held it out, but he took it promptly and saved her the humiliation of trembling while she stood there like an idiot. As he unfolded it, she explained, "I haven't had as much time as I hoped for the side-projects, but I did come across something interesting about nerve damage in my research."

Severus paled. Uh oh. He was already so fair, he was now white as a sheet, and she wished she had suggested they sit down for tea or something before springing this on him.

After holding her tongue for a full minute, waiting for his eyes to stop drifting left and right across her words, she cleared her throat. He didn't look up. "I'm sorry to say that actually  _ healing _ that kind of injury is still a pipe dream at this point, but a targeted pain potion is much more feasible."

His color was returning, but he still looked a little gobsmacked.

"Severus?"

She saw the moment when he realized she was still there, but she couldn't quite read the slight crease in his brow and straight line of his mouth. He didn't give her much time to dwell on it, though, before he cast at the blackboard.  _ May I keep this until next week? _

Hermione smiled. "Shall I expect copious red ink?" When his expression changed somewhere between a scowl and a grimace, she said hastily, "Sorry, I'm just teasing. Honestly, I'd appreciate it if you did mark it. Seems like I have a memory of an entire advanced textbook covered in brilliant annotations."

Severus visibly relaxed.

"I'll leave you to it, then, and I'll see you at dinner."

\----------

Severus was starting to get the distinct impression that she was even more brilliant than he, and it rankled a bit. Rather, it would have, but Hermione was directing that brilliance his way, and he could feel all his armor against the world simply melt under her attention. He wasn't quite sure how he was  _ supposed to _ feel about it. Severus figured he should take his own advice from a month ago, but finding a proper confidant would be difficult.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore hadn't been lick of help. Perhaps an eternity to simply  _ hang around _ made an already eccentric old man go totally batty. Before his death, Albus had no problem analyzing every nuance of a person's behavior, but, up on the Headmistress' wall, he wanted nothing to do with figuring out how Severus felt or what he should do about Hermione.  _ Just talk to her, _ was all he said. Not bloody likely.

The girl had been on the receiving end of a serious personal violation, to the point of being inspired for a project that would represent her entry to an elite professional group. She was depressed, traumatized, and under extreme career pressure. He couldn't bear the possibility that he would add to her strain, and he wasn't sure how he would respond to rejection. They both had to live in this castle. He didn't want to risk losing her quiet presence at meals. Their not-quite-conversations in his lab or office.

He had to wonder if she considered him a friend. Did friends do what she was doing? Maybe. Did friends find reasons to spend more time together? Yes, that sounded right. Did friends come up with brilliant new potion theories to ease a little pain? Not that he ever saw. Then again, he'd never known anyone else like Hermione. Even Lily, hailed as prodigy by Slughorn, was more of an intuitive brewer who could tweak an existing potion. She'd  _ never _ have followed through on an ambition like a unified theory of love potions, and she'd  _ never _ have come up with something as original as the notes he now held in his trembling hand. Were Hermione's efforts on his behalf simply a benefit of friendship with an  _ actual _ potions prodigy?

Perhaps she wanted something, but what? Her first visit to his lab had definitely been a matter of tit for tat. Fridays in August were an arrangement facilitated for an Apprentice by her Master. All the time she spent in the hospital wing during her birthday weekend was a product of extreme circumstance. Now she was coming on Fridays again. She said she missed it. Why?

With only questions, and no answers, Severus went to his office and summoned a quill. She wanted red ink. He would provide.

An hour later, Severus sat back in his office chair, stunned. She had done it. It would work. They'd need to hash out some of the specific quantities of the ingredients, and he suspected sun-dried plantain would be better than fresh, but that was all workable. The bigger issue was the specificity of the potion. It was designed for him. Only him. What the hell did it mean?

Two weeks later, they were ready to brew his custom pain potion, targeted to his specific injury with a synthesized approximation of Nagini's venom and a sample of his own saliva. Fortunately, he could produce both – surviving Nagini's attack was entirely possible because of his prior work with her venom, and all he had to do to make his mouth water was fantasize for two seconds about kissing Hermione. He insisted that she brew it, as it was her invention, and she insisted that he observe, as he was the one who had to consume it. They both agreed it should be done in his lab, next door to the infirmary, just in case.

The first stage of brewing went in silence, exactly as expected. Then it needed four minutes to simmer and two more to cool. As they waited, Severus became quite nervous. It would work, and he would be able to speak without pain, but what would he say? Fuck, he should have thought of that.

Hermione cleared her throat and shuffled her feet. "So, in other news of potions testing, I got an answer from the Ministry Review Board." She looked quite sour indeed as she glared at her shoes and elaborated, "They granted temporary, limited approval of single dosing for 30 subjects ages seventeen to seventy, and only for three of the twelve potions I requested."

Severus gestured broadly to draw her attention to the blackboard as he cast:  _ Finish the mass spectronomy experiments and try again. The temporary approval is most likely based on the draft status of your recipe. _

She nodded and faced him properly to reply. "Yes. That's exactly what they said, and that I should be grateful to have this much, so that I can begin testing as soon as I have the first batch ready. They said most Apprentices don't get the benefit of an accelerated program and have to have their recipe verified by an independent Potions Master before they'll even consider approval for human testing."

Severus wasn't sure about that. Perhaps Master Belby had found someone willing to rubber-stamp his work all those years ago. Perhaps the Ministry tightened their leash on all Potions Masters since then. He himself had never taken an Apprentice. He lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug.

Hermione extinguished the flame under the cauldron and sighed. "I think I am mostly upset that Love's Eyes didn't make the cut."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It mixes well with alcohol, amplifying the effect of what the muggles call  _ beer goggles. _ The emotional response is almost instantaneous at dosing, and with a high concentration of rose petals, the physical reaction is rather intense. Even after taking an antidote, it lingers in the system for days, causing the victim to see the best in everyone, though the physical drive to do anything about it is gone."

Severus scowled. Did she forget she was talking to a Potions Master? He didn't need this lecture. He already knew – Oh. These details were how she figured out the dose  _ she _ had received last month.

His realization must have shown on his face, because she blushed bright pink and said, "I know it's daft to take it so personally." She looked away, and before he could respond, declared their current project complete.

He was thankful for the temporary distraction, but now felt a resurgence of anxiety. She handed him a goblet, and he stared at it for a moment. Though it was cooled and congealing, it was very fizzy, and the air bubbles sparkled at him, forming and popping in time with the bubbly feeling rising up in his gut.

"You don't have to. I'd understand if you think it's too risky."

Severus snapped his head up to look at Hermione. He didn't have any doubts, but he could believe that she read his hesitation that way. He lifted his lips into a tight smile, raised the cup in salute, and then drained it.

It tasted sickly sweet, but the effect was immediate. He could feel it in his throat, both the soothing creamy viscosity and the exciting fizzy massage. He set down the goblet on the workbench and waited for the bubbly feeling to subside.

Then he belched.

"Pardon me," he said promptly, but there was no time to be embarrassed. His voice still sounded like absolute shite, but those two words came out with no pain whatsoever. He felt the grin explode on his face. "It worked."

Hermione was grinning, too, and bouncing on the balls of her feet. It reminded him of the way she'd raise her hand until she was standing with the need to be recognized. He had to repress an instinct to cut her down. Those days were over. He was free to speak, and he was free to have a friend. Maybe more. Merlin and all the gods, he needed to avoid cocking this up. She just performed a miracle, and he should be grateful.

Slowly and softly, savoring each syllable, he said, "Thank you, Hermione."

"Do you feel light-headed? Numbness? Any other side effects to note?"

"No side effects." Just a mad urge to drop to his knee and propose. He wanted so badly to touch her, to hug her in his glee and claim her forever. Heart racing, he fell back to the habit of hiding his true feelings behind snark. "Only a slight regret that I didn't prepare a long-winded speech."

She giggled, and he thought it was the only sound more wonderful than hearing his own voice without the accompanying pain in his throat. She must be giddy with the delight of her accomplishment. Just a few months ago he would have lashed out at such a display of enthusiasm, but now, all he wanted was to make her laugh again. His stomach dropped when her expression faltered. She wrung her hands and said, "I, erm, would like to write an article on targeted pain relief for venom-based nerve damage."

Of course she would. He would, too, in her shoes.

"Will you co-author it? This was just as much your discovery as mine."

He didn't agree with that at all, and he nearly cast to the blackboard before remembering he didn't have to do that anymore. Carefully choosing his words, he said, "I will proofread your draft before you give it to Horace."

"Thank you. I think I should go now and write while this is all still fresh." She stepped toward him, and then seemed to think better of it. "Please don't overdo it. You are not actually healed, and I think you, Healer Snape, know better than I do what will happen if you cause more damage with over-exertion."

Severus simply nodded, and a moment later she was gone. That night, for the first time ever, he indulged in self-pleasure and felt no pain in his throat when he called out her name. That night, for the first time in months, he slept without a single nightmare.


	4. Saturday, Wait

Through November, Hermione noticed that Severus still didn't speak if he could help it. He continued to sit in mostly-silence during meals, between her and Minerva, and he still used the rolling blackboard in the hospital wing. She, on the other hand, was becoming more comfortable with her routine and speaking more than ever.

She was warming up to Slughorn, now that she was getting deep into her research. She also had enough experience to better appreciate the study plan he laid out for her. She had imposed on Flitwick twice for tea, picking his brain over charms for trace compound detection, and also talking through some of the more delicate troubles with her students. In both cases, Hermione was learning that she had some limits. For as powerful as she was, magic itself had limits. And life had limits. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but she was beginning to accept that sometimes she would have to try her best, but she or her students would still not succeed. After successfully doing her part to take down the most evil dark wizard of the century, this was a bitter pill to swallow. She had to forgive herself for taking months to understand, let alone accept, this aspect of becoming an educator.

Hermione also continued doing most of the talking during conversations with Severus. Now that he was quite capable of telling her off when she pushed too hard, she felt a little more daring about peppering him with questions about his Single-Dose Wolfsbane project. It was coming along, but he, too, had setbacks and limits, though he seemed to handle it better. She figured this was because he had an extra two decades of life's disappointments to compare.

And then there was Harry. She would have to remember to thank Severus for pressing the point of a confidant. Harry had Ginny, but he was the first between them to say that the bond Harry and Hermione shared was totally unique and irreplaceable. Exactly one week before Christmas, he sat in her rooms, tea abandoned on the table, and he said, "Hermione, as the brains of our operation, you saved my sorry arse time and again. I love you, and I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"

She paused to think carefully about her reply. His expression was both affectionate and a little eager. She said, "Harry, as the talent of our operation, you ultimately saved us all. I feel the same way about you. Is there something in particular you need?"

The relief was plain on his face. "I heard you are friends with Snape. You know, sitting with him at meals, spending a lot of time brewing together, that sort of thing."

Hermione bristled. "You should call him  _ Healer Snape, _ please. He probably finds me insufferable, the way I ask so much of him." She shrugged. "But if we are friends, what of it?"

Harry picked up his teacup and fiddled with the handle. "Do you think he'd come to our Christmas party next weekend? Ginny wants to invite half the magical population, and she has some, erm, passionate things to say about how we owe him."

Thinking it over, Hermione nodded. Ginny had been at Hogwarts when Severus was Headmaster. Decent odds she could look back and understand the indirect life debts they all racked up to him while he balanced keeping his cover and saving their skin. Maybe Hermione should be having a regular heart-to-heart with Ginny, too. She finally replied, "I don't know. I could ask him."

"Would you?"

Would she? Yes, ever since she left the lab yesterday, she'd been thinking about whether he might have more time to talk potions while the students were out. It helped that she herself finally had two spare seconds to think about using the holiday free time, and she didn't want to ignore a chance like this to ask him. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "First you tell me who gossiped about my friendship with him."

Harry blushed and tried to buy time sipping his tea. It was probably too cold, based on the look of disgust that followed this action. He set the cup back on the table and said quietly, "Aside from what you've told me yourself, I get these obnoxious letters from Slughorn, detailing everything he knows about people I care about, and inviting me to his Slug Club meetings. I'm thinking I should go ahead and see him today, on my terms, not while he's performing as host and puppeteer for his favorites."

A wave of nausea passed through Hermione. "It's  _ Professor Slughorn, _ but, yes, he asks me to attend, too. I usually just change the subject back to work, or, I suppose, my side projects with Severus." She sighed. "I'll stop doing that, then, if he's gossiping. Should have known better."

"I'm going to fly first. With the students gone, I'll have the pitch to myself. Unless you want to come?"

Hermione shook her head. Harry stood and leaned over to kiss her cheek and say goodbye. Once he was out the door, Hermione counted sixty seconds before heading to the hospital wing. Severus wasn't there. Of course he wasn't there. Term was finished. Most of the faculty and staff were packing for their own holiday away from the castle. She ran as fast as she could to the dungeons, feeling a sense of dread that she already missed him.

\----------

Every year since he began teaching, Severus relished the winter holiday break. Even Harry Potter couldn't get on his nerves when the castle was so blissfully calm, the snow so sparkly and pure, and the House Elves so determined to put everyone's favorites on the menu every day. The Christmas dinner feast might be insufferable, but the rest of the holiday was sublime.

And what better way to kick it off than Hermione Granger knocking on his door?

He was surprised to see her. Didn't she have an appointment with Potter on Saturday mornings? Perhaps they were skiving off for the holidays. Yesterday she said she was going to try to make it without Dreamless Sleep. Maybe she had changed her mind.

Then she babbled, "I'm so glad you're still here, and I feel silly and rude about not asking after your plans yesterday. So I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a question, erm, about your holiday plans. You don't have to tell me your plans, of course. It's just, I was just wondering if you're available –"

"Hermione," he said out loud.

That shut her up. She looked at him with her big brown eyes, and he grimaced when he realized how informally he was dressed. He hardly threw on his shirt and trousers today, preparing to relax. The top buttons were undone, and she was staring at his scars.

Severus had spent far too long under the thumbs of others, his every action examined thrice over for its loyalty, and his very appearance honed for his role. He thought of the long-ago meeting when Albus first dressed him in this bat-of-the-dungeons teaching robes, the old man's eyes twinkling not with warmth but calculated appraisal, and he snapped, "Would you like to come in, or did you come to prattle inanely in my doorway?"

The pained look in her eyes gave him pause. Fuck. This was exactly the reason he had been better off not speaking at all. He always wound up insulting and driving away the people who most deserved kindness and love.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Then at a regular speaking volume tried again, "Please come in." 

Her wide-eyed pain became narrow-eyed anger. She snapped, just as sharply as he had, "Harry is at the quidditch pitch. If you're really sorry, go there, and he can ask you himself." Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Hermione, wait." Severus stepped out onto the cold stone floor in his bare feet and hissed. Then he shouted after her, "Hermione, please come back!"

Ouch. Bloody hell, that hurt. Not good. He tried a few more sounds, at a lower volume, and each one caught painfully in his throat. His guilt multiplied thinking of how he would need another dose of a potion she invented for his sake. She was long gone, so he ducked back inside, conjured a glass of cool water to drink, snagged a mini-board to take with him, and put on the rest of his armor. Full suit and robes, dragonhide boots and gloves, and his warmest cloak. It was freezing out there.

But he really was sorry, so he'd do as she said. He was plenty familiar with regret, as well as taking orders for atonement. She required relatively easy penance, all things considered. 

Thus, with the mid-December wind whipping his hair around his face, Severus went to find Potter. Exactly as she said, he was flying. Severus considered launching, too, a broom unnecessary. But no, there was a sporting chance Potter would want to learn to do it, and that was definitely not his current mission.

He waited for a minute, and then he drew his wand to make sparks for attention. Potter landed about six feet away and stepped nearly within arm's reach. Severus tamped down the instinct to step back, and he held up the mini-board with his objective:  _ What did you want to ask? _

Potter frowned at him, and then jerked his head toward the castle. They fell into step next to each other, and it was silent for just a moment, while Severus tried to sneak a peek at his companion's expression. Thoughtful, maybe concerned. Then Potter spoke with a sour note, "Hermione was going to talk to you."

Severus scowled to himself, eyes ahead so he wouldn't have to look into an accusing glance in the color of Lily's-eyes-green. He cast at the mini-board and then handed it to Potter to read as they walked.  _ I was a git, and she ran off. _

Potter laughed out loud, and then he handed the board back. "Ginny and I wanted to invite you to our party on Christmas Day, and I was trying to do that matchmaker thing where I get  _ Hermione _ to ask you. If she passed the job back to me, then you must have bollocksed it up badly."

They arrived at the main door, and Severus stopped to glare.

Holding up his hands, Potter laughed again. "Just calling it like I see it. Every week, the first thing she tells me is something about Friday lab time that made her happy. She calls on that memory like it fuels her patronus when the conversation gets rough. I think you know what that means."   


He knew what  _ Harry Potter _ must have thought it meant. He gave enough interviews after the Battle of Hogwarts to paint a pretty good picture of Severus' tragic, unrequited love. The boy had no nuance, and the public had even less. The doe patronus was homage, not amour. The love Severus felt for Lily had decades to both mature and fade, and every memory he offered while he bled out in the Shrieking Shack was specifically curated for making Potter do what had to be done.

But still, if Hermione was drawing strength from their time together, that should be an encouraging thought. Even if Potter's comment carried a hint of a threat in its tone. Maybe the boy  _ had _ grown up and learned some nuance. Severus simply nodded.

Potter sighed and clutched his cloak a little tighter around himself. "Look, you don't have to listen to a word I say, but I think you should apologize and then ask her to come to the party as your date."

Severus already apologized once. He was familiar with the futility of repeatedly saying the words. On the other hand, he was curious what exactly Hermione had told Potter, that made him so sure of this plan. He tried to speak, and it hurt, but he managed clearly enough, "Will she say yes?"

Another thoughtful look graced Potter's face, and then he grinned. "Are you a manky git?"

Severus snorted.

"Shall we go find her, then? I also need to find Slughorn."

\----------

Hermione felt like a coward. Everyone knew Severus was ill-tempered. She had just... forgotten. Since August, he'd been her ally, mentor, and friend. Sure he was snarly, but this was the first time in months, no, actually  _ two years _ that he directed his disdain toward her, to her face. It made her feel like she was eleven years old.

It was all so much worse because her first instinct was to run straight to his lab.

She went to Slughorn's instead. Thinking about work meant she didn't have to think about what happened. She didn't have to consider why she was so upset about something anyone else would have fully expected from this man. She could feel productive instead of inadequate.

Slughorn popped in a few minutes later. "Miss Granger, are you quite all right? You came through my wards so forcefully I was worried we might have a situation like we did a few months ago."

"I'm fine, thanks," she said promptly. "I had some time and wanted to start my analysis of the wiggintree samples."

"Of course, of course." Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him twirl his mustache. "Have you figured out why the twigs have to be fresh?"

Hermione shook her head. "The magic dissipates when the living cells die, but I still don't know why." She gestured to her dishes. "This sample is from the trunk, this one from the bark, and this one from the leaves. I'm refining these new samples for cross-analysis."

She was starting to relax, explaining her work like this, when they both felt the wards shift and turned toward the door. Harry came through, and Hermione managed to smile at him. "Professor Slughorn!" Harry boomed, and swept over to put his arm around him, "Just the man I wanted to see! Oh, pardon me, Hermione, I just need a moment with the Professor here."

As Harry ushered Slughorn out of the room, Hermione chuckled and cast the last of her refinement spells. Harry's impersonation was on point, and it would be good for Slughorn to get a little taste of his own interpersonal methods. Her mirth was short-lived, however, as Severus stepped into the room next. He was holding one of his mini-boards, and Hermione heaved a great sigh. Before she could get too distracted, she cast one last spell to package her samples for storage, and then she cleared her workstation.

While she did this, she heard the snick of the latch as Severus shut the door. When she looked, he was leaning against it, his cloak and outer robe draped over one arm, and the mini-board in both hands, presenting a message for her. The lines of his face were flat and neutral, but his attention was squarely on her as she read.

_ There is nothing inane about you. Quite the contrary. You are the most intelligent and lovely witch I've ever met. Please go to the party with me. _

"Oh," she gasped softly, as a flood of her own memories washed over her. Brewing with Severus. Talking with Severus about potions. Choosing Severus over all her other friends for her birthday. Enjoying their time together on Fridays.

She saw him as her friend. Maybe even her best friend. Did he see something more? And did  _ Harry _ figure it out before she did? Not possible.

Hermione cleared her throat, looked him in the eyes, and asked, "With you... as a friend?"

The downward turn of his eyes and lips was nearly imperceptible. If she hadn't spent so much time with him in the last few months, she might not have noticed, but as it was, he may as well have wailed in agony. Just asking this way obviously hurt him. There wasn't much doubt what that meant. The next question was really how  _ she _ felt, but she wasn't quite ready to examine that yet.

She summoned the courage to ask, "Or, as a date?"

He nodded, and then he flicked his eyes down to the mini-board and cast again.

_ A long time ago, I pined in silence, and you know how that turned out. I might not be able to speak, but I'm not making the same mistake again. _

Tears welled up in her eyes. She wasn't daft. She could see the parallel. Lily had seen him as her friend, maybe even her best friend, but nothing more. Could things have been different if he only admitted how he felt about her? Maybe. Her own memories were still rolling like a film loop in her head, and she heard herself, under the influence of a love potion, at the same time she said aloud, "You  _ are _ brilliant."

Severus took a step toward her, and then he hesitated.

Hermione took the next step.

A second later, they wrapped their arms around each other, and he leaned his forehead against hers. With his slight advantage in height, his hair slid forward and brushed her cheeks, and he smelled like sage and smoke. It was a lovely embrace, even with his mini-board digging into her back. Then Hermione realized he wrote something quite alarming a moment ago, and she'd been so overwhelmed she nearly missed it. "Severus," she said slowly, leaning back but not letting go. "Why can't you speak? I thought we solved that problem."

He appeared to be quite reluctant to withdraw, but he needed his hands to hold the board where she could see it, and cast.  _ This morning proved it's better if I don't. _

Hermione frowned. "That's not what I asked. Does it hurt again? How long has this been going on?"

_ Only since calling after you today. _

She took his free hand in hers and pulled. "Let's go to your lab, as that's the only place we keep the synthesized venom. We knew there was a chance the potion would wear off. Let's consider ourselves lucky that it lasted two months, especially with your temper. I can't imagine this the first time you shouted, or is it?"

\----------

Severus allowed Hermione to lead him by the hand to the hospital wing. She was touching him, talking to him, and even thinking of his well-being. She hadn't answered his original question, but what did he care about Potter's party when this brilliant woman was still treating him like a friend? At least he hadn't driven her away. This was already better than he hoped.

He was glad she wasn't watching his face when she asked about his shouting. Likely he was bright red thinking about all the times he called out her name in the privacy of his bed. He hadn't actually shouted  _ at _ anyone, but his dignity was saved by her assumption about his temper. The heat in his cheeks subsided by the time she looked back to see him shaking his head.

She smiled, and his heart fluttered, but then she faced forward again as they walked. He spared a thought for the empty corridors, thankful no one had to witness his following her like a puppy on a leash. But he didn't have time to go down that humiliating train of thought, for she was speaking again, "That's probably fine, then, but it might last longer if you took better care – oh!"

Hermione whirled around, and he skidded to a halt just inches from her.

She drew her wand and cast, "Accio Nerve Pain Potion notes!" Then she sheathed it and said softly, "There are some new ideas I want you to review. I'll brew the original today, but maybe next time we'll have an improved recipe, and that will be the last time."

Merlin and all the gods, this woman was bloody brilliant.

Soon, he was sitting with the notes, marking them with red ink, and he was done first, so he also took the time to cast diagnostic spells on himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when he concluded there was no new damage. He was already broken enough.

Severus handed the notes back to Hermione, hoping she would review his annotations while he took the dose. No such luck. She pocketed them and gave him rather more attention than he liked as he belched loudly. Then he said, "I agree that next time could be the last."

The words came out with no pain, which was expected, but still a supremely pleasant experience itself. He chose them with great care, a phrase he could express with all his confidence in  _ this _ goblet full of relief, even if it was really about the next. Hermione beamed at him, and her bright daughter-of-dentists smile gave him the push he needed for what he wanted to say next. To say what he should have said the first time she gave him pain-free words.

"I love you, Hermione."

Her smile faltered, and his heart ached with his dwindling hope. She blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears, and she said slowly, quietly, "Is it all right to say I don't know how I feel?"

He nodded and held out his hand.

With sad eyes, she put hers in it. "Maybe... maybe I just didn't see the obvious because I doubt the, erm,  _ authenticity _ of my own feelings since September."

Severus felt daft for not thinking of that, and he didn't know what to say. He squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back. Her eyes brightened with amusement. "For the party, I'll go with you, but on one condition."

He raised one eyebrow.

"Do you know about enchanted mistletoe?"

He grimaced, hoping there wasn't any nearby.

She grinned. "I refuse to have our first kiss forced by a party favor."

Though Severus was perfectly capable of blasting a bit of the toxic plant out of existence, he wasn't stupid enough to miss the implication. With his free hand he stroked her hair, tucking curls back behind her ear, and leaned in for the kiss. Her eyes were wide open, but when their lips met, he couldn't help closing his tight. She was soft and warm, and smelled divinely of light vanilla and smoke. His heart raced, and he could hear his pulse like thunder in his ears. All too soon she pulled away, and he opened his eyes.

He could see her lashes flutter as she licked her lips. Heat rose in his cheeks and sank between his hips, and all he wanted was to kiss her again, but he held steady. He had said his peace, and she could run the show. She smiled again, and she said, "That was nice."

Not the most glowing review, but Severus was over the moon.

She apparently forgave his outburst this morning. She brewed her own magical invention just for him. She didn't outright reject his declaration, and even asked for a kiss in a downright Slytherin fashion.

And it  _ was _ nice.

Her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears again. Something inside him made him want to growl, to eliminate any threat to her happiness and kiss away those tears. She whispered, "I wasn't planning to go to the party. I'm scared."

Severus pulled her close and held her tightly, kissing her crown. Then he identified the feeling. Protection. The need to protect her. With how often she got into trouble, he was totally fucked.

She leaned on his shoulder, and he was relieved that she elaborated instead of broke down crying. "There will be so many people, and I don't like talking. Harry himself could hand me a cocktail, but I don't think I'll be able to drink anything. Ron will be there, and I don't want to see him."

This was a lot to deal with in one go, and he gently pushed to turn them so she could face the blackboard. Writing it down would make sure he got it all without saying something nasty about her friends. He kept one arm firmly around her shoulders while he cast.

_ 1\. Then don't talk too much. You can do what I do: Listen. Glare. Employ sarcasm against dunderheads. Would you like to designate a signal for me to swoop in and play the git? _

He watched her lips quirk upward, even as she shook her head. Good. Next.

_ 2\. You should learn to test your drinks. The Masters Consortium next July will be a sort of hazing on this skill. I would have warned you sooner, but I did not want to alarm you after your experience. _

The burgeoning smile was gone, but that was expected.

_ 3\. If that boy puts one toe out of line, I will hang him by it. _

Hermione shifted her eyes from the board to him. Steady and serious, she insisted, "I can do it myself. I just wish I didn't feel like I'll have to."

He gave her a quick squeeze. He wasn't sure if he meant approval, reassurance, something else, or all the above. It didn't matter. She smiled at him. Her smile appeased the prowling beast inside.

Then that smile faltered again, and Severus wasn't sure his heart could take much more of this conversation. One of her arms was holding loosely at his back, and the other came up to rest on his chest. Could she tell how fast his heart was pounding? Her fingertips fiddled with the buttons on his jacket, and his breath hitched.

He should stop now, and give them both a break to think it over. He should send her to her rooms with a Calming Draught and a Dreamless Sleep, and maybe take a Calming Draught himself. He should definitely give her space to figure out how she felt and what she wanted.

But none of that happened when he opened his mouth and asked quietly, "Will you come back to my rooms to talk more?"

\----------

Severus' sitting room had a sofa upholstered in a plush grey fabric that felt divine against Hermione's fingertips as she ran her hand over the arm. The whole room was decorated in steely blue colors with two rich navy blue armchairs. The seating made a u-shape at a round coffee table, and there was hearth but the fireplace was clearly and permanently blocked.

It was a good idea. She might just do the same in her own quarters.

They had missed lunch, but Hermione couldn't possibly eat. An odd feeling bubbled up inside her, and she wondered if it was the kind of butterflies that young people were supposed to get when pursuing a new romance. She remembered something vaguely like it when Viktor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball. Merlin, that seemed like a lifetime ago. On the other hand, she was also a little nervous, yet, and she knew there was just one question she needed to ask before she could truly relax.

She sat on the sofa, leaning against one arm, knees folded together. She was more or less sideways with her feet tucked under her bum, and she gestured to the other end of the sofa so she could comfortably watch him as they spoke.

He sat with one foot planted on the floor, his opposite knee bent and laying on the cushion, facing her with one arm draped over top the back of the sofa. It was a small sofa, and when she draped her arm the same way, she was able to lace her fingertips between his. Finally, Severus placed a mini-board between them, propped against his shin.

It was time to get an answer. Hermione took a deep breath, borrowed a phrase from her pureblood ex-boyfriend, and asked, "When I came down here earlier, what was it that crawled into your cauldron and died, just in time to tell me off in your doorway?"

She had never seen him  _ incredulous _ before this moment, but there it was: jaw-dropped, wide-eyed surprise on his face. It was brief, only a second or two, and then it was replaced with a deep scowl.

Hermione shrugged. "The cruelty I endured as your student is something I accept, in hindsight, as a necessary evil, and since we became friends I simply hadn't seen it again. Until today."

Immediately he said aloud, "I am sorry."

"I know," she snapped, wishing she had planned this conversation better. She wasn't the strategist. That was Ron. Ugh, she did not want to think about that wanker. She would have to muddle through. With a sigh, she softened her tone and said again, "I know. I accept that, too. But I'm really hoping you had a reason, or even an excuse. I  _ cannot _ accept random verbal abuse."

His eyes dropped and his brow furrowed. Then it was Hermione's turn to be surprised, as he reached for the top buttons of his jacket. A rare heat warmed her from the inside while she watched his strong, elegant hands pop the first button. Then he simultaneously cast to the mini-board, and she had to wrench her eyes away from the utterly compelling sight of Severus revealing his neck.

_ When he first hired me to teach, I felt like Albus Dumbledore's dress-up doll. My appearance was always a point of mockery, but he perfected the art of making me hideous as part of my cover. Take a good look at these scars now, and know that I am sorry I reacted so badly to your doing so this morning. _

Oh. That explained a lot, actually. His lighter wardrobe, cleaner hair, and easier smiles... It also made Hermione want to take a little trip to the Headmistress' office and set fire to a certain portrait. "I wasn't ogling your scars," she said softly, even though she most certainly was doing so now. She had prepared some of these words during the silence of her brewing time, but they came out fast, faster than she liked, almost like she was babbling again, too. "If I was staring it's because spotting your scars always reminds me of mine, and how I owe you a life debt for saving me from Dolohov's curse, and how I hate asking more of you. But I needed to ask, and I tripped over all the words, and instead of the support I've come to expect, you made me feel like the first-year loud-mouth know-it-all that we both know I used to be."

Hermione forced her eyes up to his, but they were closed against her scrutiny.

She reached for the clasp of her robe as she said, "I'm not that naive little swot anymore, and I've got my fair share of scars." Before she could think better of it, she efficiently stripped down to her brassiere, a simple blue satin number that was nearly the same shade as her dark-wash jeans. The muddy purple line of her curse scar slashed over her heart, visible above the demi-cups.

When her jumper cleared her head, Severus opened his eyes, and Hermione saw him go sickly pale.

She gulped, and she said, "It's faded since you last saw it. It's faded, and it doesn't hurt or impede my life in any way, and that's  _ thanks to you, _ and I wish I could heal yours the same."

For a minute, they stared at each other, and Hermione felt a little chill on her exposed skin, even as the bubbling and heat grew inside. Then Severus took the mini-board, set it aside, and shifted closer. He put his hands on her bare shoulders, and his rough voice was low and slow when he said, "I do not want to live with a count of who owes what. I only want a chance to be happy together."

Sweet. Sincere. Supportive. Maybe no one else would believe it, but this was the Severus she'd seen every week since August. She'd been so absorbed in her own misery that she didn't quite know if she could give him what he wanted. Happiness sounded like a fantasy. Maybe if every day could be like Friday... Her eyes felt watery as she blinked. "That sounds good," she said. "Are you... that is, do I... make you happy?"

He stroked her hair, lightly brushing the sides of her face with those elegant hands. "Very."

Her hands had been in her lap, but Hermione lifted them and slid them up his chest to his collar. She tugged, pulling him gently as she leaned forward for another kiss. She led this dance of lips and tongue, and he seemed content to learn what she liked. For a man who did everything with confidence and grace, he was a shockingly hesitant and clumsy kisser. But that was fine. Cute, even. They would just have to practice. A lot. She could feel the smile pulling her lips upward as she leaned back. "Most days, I am not happy. But I make it through those days because on Fridays I get to be happy." She kissed him again, quick and chaste, before leaning her forehead to his again. "With you."

"Hermione," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

"Severus," she breathed, putting both hands on his neck, her right thumb gently stroking the raised scar tissue. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

His eyebrows went a little haywire, and she blushed, glancing to where she had thrown her jumper and debating the merits of summoning it immediately.

"I mean, to actually sleep. I'm not ready for... more. But I used to sleep so much better when..." She trailed off and shook her head. She didn't want to say it. She hated that it was true.

"When you didn't have to sleep alone?"

She nodded, relieved that he understood.

He nodded, too.

And that night, for the first time in months, her dreams were not the epic night terrors that shook her to the bone and made her cry until dawn. Instead, her dreams were as sweet, sincere, and supportive as the man who held her close.


	5. Christmas Weekend

They spent most of the next week in his quarters. Severus was relieved that it didn't take much convincing for Hermione to allow the house elves to deliver their meals. He only had to write personal thank you notes to them. In the life he led, he'd been through far more humiliating things than putting his name on a thank-you card at Christmas.

Owls stayed in the owlery, where post boxes had been installed, so their mail would automatically appear at the inboxes in their respective offices. At the beginning of each day, they'd go to hers first, and she'd swap out paperwork, and then they'd go to his, where they would work in silence for an hour. Then they'd brew, which was a nice reminder that what they had before his declaration was still possible. It gave him hope that even if she decided she didn't want him, he wouldn't totally lose her.

After the brewing sessions, then had picnic lunches, bundled up and charmed to stay warm in the December chill. The spots were carefully chosen for framing difficult conversations they needed to have. They were neutral domains at tangible landmarks of the more brutal things they had seen and done. On Monday she took him to the exact spot at the edge of the forest where she led Dolores Umbridge to a night of torture by centaurs. On Tuesday they went to the lawn by the Whomping Willow, which was as close as he was willing to go to the Shrieking Shack. On Wednesday they went to the Hog's Head, where she had insisted on the signatures that resulted in a classmate's permanent curse scar. On Thursday he took her to the tower where he cast the Killing Curse.

Usually she wound up crying in his arms. On Thursday it was his turn to break down.

In the evenings they went to his rooms, and he was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable he was to have her in his space. Sure, it helped that there was lots of snogging on the sofa. Gods, she was a great kisser. She would plunder his mouth and steal his breath, and she'd rain sweet kisses on his face while she rubbed her body against his. A nibble on his ear would send a jolt of white-hot desire to his prick, and while the scars on his neck had hardly any feeling left, his nape was so sensitive she only needed the barest stroke of her fingertips back there to set him on fire.

Every night, she would say she felt bad for not finishing what she started. He would say he could wait as long as she needed, as long as she didn't mind feeling how much he wanted her when they curled up in bed for the night. Then she'd smile, and she'd sleep like an angel, her bushy hair a magnificent halo that tickled his over-large nose. He'd curl around her, and holding her at night was almost as good as taking a dose of Dreamless Sleep.

Almost. Friday morning he woke up well before dawn, silently weeping after seeing visions of all the usual suspects. Albus planning his own calculated death. Nagini sliding around his ankles. Minerva glaring with hate and mistrust. Children crying on Poppy's cots after the Carrows were through with them.

Hermione was sleeping soundly, and Severus did not want to wake her. She needed this sleep.

He slipped out of bed and put on his clothes and eyed the sofa. A good wank might be in order. Though usually at the  _ end _ of the day, it was becoming a Friday ritual. He was due.

Severus smirked and shook his head, eyes drifting back toward the bedroom. Fresh air might be the better choice. Soon he was on the north tower, gazing out across the snow cover, which reflected so much moonlight he could see quite clearly all the way to the lake. He gripped his cloak tightly, unsure what he was looking for among the drifts of white powder.

He heard the creak of the hatch that led to this rooftop, and he spun around.

It was Minerva. Gods knew why she'd be up at this hour. His hand twitched, ready to draw. He  _ hated _ that response, but he spent ten months building it, and rightly so, as he did in fact have to jump out a window to cut short the inevitable duel with her.

"Calm down, Severus," she said, as she always did since June.

He rolled his eyes.

"Did you elope?"

He raised one eyebrow.

"The house elves assured me you are both eating, and the portraits say you're always together, usually working. The two of you are the only people I know who would want to  _ work _ on their honeymoon."

Severus sighed and shook his head. "If I thought she'd say  _ yes, _ I would ask her today." He lifted one shoulder. "Would have months ago."

"Is she treating you well?"

"What?"

Minerva's stern look cracked into an affectionate smile. "You deserve a little happiness, and so does she. See you both at Harry's party tomorrow?"

He nodded, a bit dazed. When he was alone again, he cursed himself a fool and high-tailed it back to his rooms. Fresh air was fine and all, but Hermione was in his bed, and he should be there, too. He didn't care if she said  _ no. _ He would ask her now.

Severus rushed into the bedroom so fast that he skidded to a halt when he saw her sitting up in the bed, eyes red and puffy as she dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. "Hermione?"

She squeaked and covered her face with her hands.

He was rooted to the spot. "What is it?"

"Don't worry. I'm just being silly. I'm fine."

Slowly he forced his feet to move, and Severus sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. "Tell me."

"Well..." She dabbed at her eyes again and took a deep breath. "I woke up and you were gone... I thought it was a nightmare, like all the ones where I'm back in the Forest of Dean, when Ron walked out on us." She sniffed. "I know, it's daft, and I'm safe here, and it's your room so of course you didn't go far." Fresh tears formed in her big brown eyes. "I knew you'd be right back, but I was so afraid I'd never see you again, because I was so afraid I'd never see  _ him _ again."

Severus was vaguely aware at the time, just what a fool that Weasley boy proved himself to be. They needed it, in the end, to set up better conditions for delivering the Sword of Gryffindor. It was one of those things Albus anticipated, and it went exactly as planned, so Severus was determined not to be angry about such things. He didn't quite expect Hermione to be so traumatized by that abandonment, and it was sorely testing his resolve to enjoy peacetime without casting any rage hexes. At the very least, it made him want to take a little trip to the Headmistress' office and set fire to a certain portrait.

She probably didn't need his righteous fury on her behalf. She might not need this either, but he wanted to say it anyway: "As long as you want me, I will never leave you."

He slipped his right arm around her, and she took his left hand in hers. He drew breath to propose, but the sad look in her eyes made him hesitate. Her hand slid up to his wrist and then his arm, laying her palm flat over the place where they both knew his Dark Mark still branded him. He felt the tremor in her hand as she gripped him tightly and said, "You can't know that."

Severus knew it could only be a matter of time before she'd hold his past against him. He was honestly a bit surprised it took her so long, that he hadn't scared her off already during their lunchtime confession hours. It still bloody  _ hurt. _

That pain must have shown on his face, because she suddenly moved, throwing her arms around him and whispering in his ear, "I'm sorry. I don't doubt you, Severus. I trust you. I feel safe with you. You've been so good to me, and you don't deserve any doubts. I'm sorry."

He clung to her, burying his face in her hair and taking comfort in her vanilla smoke scent and tickling curls.

"I've been thinking..."

She trailed off, and Severus reluctantly withdrew enough to look at her, raising one eyebrow. "You never stop."

She gave him a weak smile. "I wish I could say  _ I love you _ with the same certainty you have."

What in Merlin's name did that mean?

"I can only say I want to try. I want more happy Fridays, and I like the friendship we've made. You're my best friend, Severus. If this love thing doesn't work out, what happens then?"

Ah, he understood now. If she only knew how often he'd asked himself the same thing! Speaking slowly to be sure she caught every word of his gravelly drawl, he said, "If you want it to work, we will make it work. Do you really think anyone or anything could stop us?"

Her eyes drifted down as she thought about this question. His breath hitched when her gaze lingered at his arm. When she lifted her chin, the fire in her eyes caught him off guard. "No," she said firmly. "You're right, of course. You and I are formidable enough separately." She grinned. "Imagine any fool going up against the  _ both _ of us."

That was a fantasy almost as good as all the sexy ones he indulged. A lifetime united with Hermione, taking down anyone who would get in their way. He reconsidered his desire to marry her as soon as possible. Perhaps such a victorious moment would be a better one to ask for her hand.

\----------

During their brewing session, Hermione had a breakthrough with the wiggentree samples. It was simple, really. The cellulose and lignin of the hard cell walls were imbued with magic that hardens the heart. The freshness of the sample was a direct relation to its potency, though Master Selket's stasis charm for plant matter worked rather well. And the best proportion of cellulose to lignin was in the  _ trunk _ of the tree, not the outer twigs.

When she announced her discovery to Severus, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet in her excitement, and he gave her a look that she was starting to understand as amused affection. He said, "Magic that hardens the heart sounds dangerous. You can handle it, but don't refine it too far." His expression turned into a proper smirk. "This might explain why bowtruckles are more prickly than I am."

She giggled and threw her arms around him, planting a kiss on his lips. She whispered, "It's going to work. I'm going to make it work."

As his arms came up around her, she knew she meant more than just the antidote.

Firming up her tone, she added, "We are going to make it work."

The light in his eyes gave her joy, and she couldn't help but wonder if she'd taken too many antidotes that night in September. Did she harden her heart too far? It was a standard battery, but she didn't wait the standard gap time between them. Had she wasted months that she and Severus could have been happily in love?

No matter. She had more important things to think about now. "Are you finished with yours for the day?"

He nodded, gesturing to his cleared workstation.

"Severus," she murmured, and then kissed him again. "I want to go to bed."

She could see the moment when her meaning hit home, and his eyes darkened, and he pressed one more kiss to her lips before taking her by the hand and leading her away.

Hermione felt giddy as he took her through the corridors, slipping through two shortcuts to hasten the journey. He kept throwing glances back at her, as if he wasn't sure she was there, despite the vice grip on her hand. It made Hermione feel a lot better, thinking that he was a little nervous, too.

Once inside the door to his quarters, she reached for his high collar, pulling him down for a kiss and fumbling with his buttons. She thought he was coming along nicely, kissing her with expertise that allowed this multitasking. One week of nonstop snogging and heavy petting was a good learning experience for both of them. They left a trail of clothes on the floor, and Severus kicked in the door to the bedroom so he wouldn't have to take his hands off her.

Hermione whimpered at the sudden chill as he dropped to his knees and pulled down her jeans. She leaned against the bed to stay upright as he tugged each leg clear of her feet. Down to her bra and knickers, Hermione gulped as she watched Severus lean back on his heels and take a good look. The way his eyes raked up her legs made her clench her pelvic floor, and the open awe on his face as he continued made her heart lurch.

His hands followed a few seconds behind his gaze, slowly sliding up her calves, then her thighs. He stood, ghosting his fingertips over the satin undergarments, tracing her muddy purple scar, and then cupping both sides of her jaw and leaning in for a deep, hungry kiss. He pressed his body to hers, and her skin tingled at every contact with his.

More. She needed more skin. Breaking away from his mouth, her hands flew, swiftly removing the rest of their clothes. Back to the heated kisses, she ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms, and around his back. He did the same, catching roughly on her nipples as he rushed by them, apparently anxious to pull her close again. Bodies flush together, Hermione could feel his hardness against her belly, and she shivered with anticipation.

Severus had a nice body, broad-shouldered and dusted with fine hair. At one point he might have been whipcord thin, but six months of peace seemed to put meat on his bones, and Hermione groped at every bit of flesh she could reach. His bum was an absolutely perfect pair of handfuls to squeeze, and he gasped into her mouth as she massaged him. Their fevered kissing broke again as he shook his head and nudged her back.

The bed was directly behind her, and she scrambled backward, flicking her wand to arrange the pillows and then dropping it on the bedside table. Leaning back, she opened her arms and her legs and smiled brightly for him.

Severus visibly trembled, and he rasped, "Hermione, you are incredible."

She didn't know what to say. Thankfully he didn't seem to need a response, and it was her turn to tremble as he slowly drew up between her knees, running his hands again along the length of her legs, leaving a trail of heat and desire. Hermione panted as he approached her center, and she gasped loudly when he pressed his thumb against her clit.

The smug bastard had a profound smirk on his face as that thumb dropped low and found the pool of her arousal just inside her opening. She was about ready to get bossy, ready to insist he get inside her immediately, when he lowered his face and  _ blew. _ The cool air made her gasp again, and her back arch, raising her hips nearly to his face. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, and Hermione threw her head back, unable to watch the tease.

But he didn't tease her long. The next kiss went on the inner crease of her hip, and then the next one went squarely on her clit.

"Ooooh!" she moaned, eyes shut tight. His strong, elegant hands came to her thighs, holding her open, and he pressed the flat of his tongue against her. Her instinct was to put both hands on his head, but she didn't want to pull his hair out and grabbed fistfulls of the sheet instead. The firm, wet sensation caressed her most sensitive flesh, explored her gently, and left her panting and keening and begging. "Yes, Severus. Ooooh, please, that's so good..."

One of his hands slipped upward, and then one long finger probed inside. She moaned again as he sucked her nub between his lips and twisted his bent knuckle, slightly changing the angle each time until...

"Oh! Oh, yes!" She shouted as her legs shook, her toes curled, and her back arched. The hand on her thigh held her down, the lips closed tight on her clit, and the finger inside stroked that delicious spot over and over. She wasn't sure quite how long she rode the high. It was a moment, and it was an eternity.

And then the waves receded, and her bowstring-tight muscles relaxed, and she sighed, "Oh, wow," as she opened her eyes in time to see him wipe his face on the bedding. If she thought he looked smug before, this was a whole new level of personal satisfaction. He crawled up over her body and kissed her lips gently.

She wasn't interested in  _ gentle _ anymore, and she buried both hands in his hair and ran her tongue over his lips, feeling a bit smug herself about the smell and flavor of her own essence on him. For the first time this entire holiday, she wanted to go attend a meal in public, being the only one who knew about his debauched appetizer.

He gave her a questioning look, and Hermione reached down and took him in her hand. Now it was his turn to gasp, and he whispered, "I won't last."

She was way beyond caring about that. Her first proper orgasm with a partner was more than enough for her. Lining him up, she lifted her hips to take the first inch of him, and she sighed in pleasure. He still seemed hesitant, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "Take me, Severus. I'm already yours."

He slammed his hips to hers, and she gasped before she let out another happy sigh. His inhibition was gone, and he held himself up on his elbows as he withdrew just a bit and then buried himself deeply again. And again. And again. The feel of him, sliding in and out, grinding his pubic bone against her, quickly drew out another wave of pleasure, not as intense as the first orgasm but still worthy of a back-arch and a long moan. His pace suddenly increased, and she supposed he must be close. His eyes were closed tight, and his brow furrowed in concentration, and suddenly he stopped. Buried deep, he cried out, "Hermione!"

A fleeting worry for the pain in his throat passed through her mind, but she shoved that aside to revel in the sight of Severus bucking as he emptied himself inside her, hair flying, eyes squeezed so tight he might just be seeing stars.

He collapsed on top of her, and Hermione managed to reach for her wand to summon a blanket.

\----------

Severus ordered a light supper and completed the required thank-you note for Hermione's sake. He was determined to go again soon, and he wanted to last longer than four minutes this time. She lounged in a frizzy-haired daze, naked and tempting as she nibbled on fruit and cheese. He could eat her again and be quite happy without any dinner at all.

He chose a bottle of wine and was pleased that she remembered to test her drink in this state of relaxed satisfaction. He had her practicing all week, and the habit was starting to stick. One analytical whiff and two nonverbal charms would provide sufficient clues toward the danger of any beverage. These methods might not give an exact threat, but they would at least answer the question: Should I even take a sip?

They hadn't finished one glass between them before she spelled their food platter to a safer location than the bed. She crawled over to him, took the wine out of his hand, knocked it back, and vanished the glass.

She was ready for round two, and he didn't need any convincing.

Severus was happy that his body handled a nearly-all-nighter of lovemaking. In the wee hours, he wrapped his arms around Hermione and kissed her lazily and admitted, "I'm tired."

Hermione giggled, and then she kissed his drooping eyelids and whispered, "I love you, Severus."

Relaxed and content, Severus slept. He woke up some hours later feeling far more refreshed than he expected, and the first thing he saw was the serene little smile on Hermione's face. He felt his own lips tug upward, and he rolled his neck to stretch while he gathered his wits.

"Good morning," she murmured, "and Happy Christmas."

"Mmm," he mumbled, still a bit groggy, and then he leaned in for a quick kiss before pulling back to rest his head on the pillow. On their sides, facing each other, he had one free hand for touching her, and he didn't waste any time doing so. He started by stroking her hair and her face. Lovely.

Hermione's smile turned down, and she bit her lip. Then she sighed and said, "I didn't get you anything. I had a few ideas, but they all started to seem far too trite, oh, about a week ago."

He smirked and leaned his forehead against hers, allowing his hand to drift around her back. "I didn't get you anything, either."

She giggled. Her good humor was gift enough. Another leisurely shag before they left the bed was a decadent bow on the package.

However, her mood soured as they approached the time to go to the party. He wished he knew what to say, but she didn't seem interested in logic or support. Eventually she snapped, "I have to go get ready. Harry said Ginny will be dressed to the nines, and I refuse to look dumpy next to her."

Severus nodded. He was relieved to get a little alone time, not that he'd ever tell her that. He was in desperate need of a bath, and his formal robes might need a slight transfiguration to let out the seams, and he did not want her to see either of those indignities quite yet.

An hour later, he was ready, and he went to her door and knocked. He realized, standing there, that he'd never actually been in her quarters. When she opened up, it was only his well-honed skills of observation that allowed him to observe the blocked fireplace and overflowing bookshelves, so much like his own sitting room. These were minor details in the periphery, as his focus was entirely and squarely on the vision of Hermione in a sumptuous red gown. It was modest in the sense that it covered everything but her hands and face, and yet the way it draped over the curves of her body was anything but demure. Severus could feel his blood rush out of his face and straight to his cock. Surely that door ten paces back led to her bedroom...

She reached forward and lightly touched his chin. He snapped his jaw up. Just when had it dropped?

Hermione flushed a fetching pink color, pale against the deep red of the gown's high neck. Severus swooped his eyes to her halo of frizzy hair. She had done something different, something that embraced the wildness to reflect the candlelight. She was glowing. Was it magic? Was it more-or-less spending the prior twenty-four hours in bed? Was it happiness?

He finally found some words. "Hermione, you are incredible."

She smiled and raked her gaze over him. He held up to this critical review with his eyes open and soft, and he tried to tell himself that  _ no one _ would remember what he wore while he was standing next to her. His formal robes didn't billow like the old teaching robes; they were black, of course, but more sleek, with finer stitching in silver threads. They'd cast a striking profile standing next to each other.

"Ready?" he asked.

Hermione flashed him a big grin. "When I start to get anxious, I just imagine any fool going up against the  _ both _ of us."

Severus slipped his hands around her waist, enchanted by the soft fabric clinging to her form so perfectly. He kissed her, and it was probably for the best that she pulled back first.

"Let's get this over with, and then we can come back to bed."

He didn't need to be told twice.

The Potters were the hosts, but the venue was the Ministry Grand Ballroom. From the moment they stepped inside, his instincts were on high alert, monitoring the seven exits, counting guests, and noting suspicious behavior. Nearly two hundred attendees quickly shifted between social groups. Merlin, that was far too many. He knew most of them, but not all of them, and he could feel the deep scowl forming on his face.

Severus nearly jumped a mile when Hermione gently placed her hand on his arm. With just a glance into her big brown eyes, he was calm again. The time for espionage was over. He arrived at this party with the most beautiful woman in the room, and if he couldn't be happy he could at least be smug about it. There was no sign of Ronald Weasley, so that was one small detail in their favor.

They spent the first half hour close to the Potters, and Hermione relaxed, protectively sandwiched between him and them. When Minerva showed up, he had his usual moment of panic, shifting his stance and itching to draw, but as she lingered at his other side, Severus relaxed, too. He was surrounded by Gryffindors, but Minvera was the one who finally dared to bring up the conspicuously missing guest. "Ginny, dear, I am counting your brothers and came up short. I spotted George and spoke with Percy, and I did not expect to see Bill or Charlie, but where is Ron?"

Severus and Hermione both tensed, but Ginny didn't hesitate. "My idiot brother was not invited. He's been terribly rude since September, and I think he's in France anyway. Quit his job last month and shacked up with Lavender Brown, if the rumors are true. I wouldn't know, since he doesn't write."

Hermione's hand squeezed rhythmically on Severus' arm, but they both held their tongues, and the conversation turned to safer topics. Eventually, the other guests got more daring, approaching the great Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. It didn't take too long before Hermione was obviously sick of answering the same three questions about her job and deftly ignoring any questions about Ron Weasley. Severus glanced at the enormous clock near the front door, past the dance floor. They had been for an hour, and when he turned his gaze back to Hermione, her big brown eyes were pleading along with her words, "I want to go home now."

After she had a round of goodbye hugs with her friends, Severus was surprised by Potter's cordial handshake, and then they were off. The final test was getting back to the main door. He was used to accusing glances and nasty rumors, and he suspected she was, too. They made a beeline, but they could hear the not-so-hushed whispers as they passed groups of party guests.

_ "Did you see they came in together?" _

_ "...too good for him..." _

_ "...said she was frigid..." _

_ "Maybe he slipped her a love potion." _

His breath hitched as Hermione stopped short and let go of his arm. He reached back and tried to tug her onward. "Remember that  _ any fool _ is not the same as  _ every fool, _ Hermione."

She nodded, and a minute later they apparated to the gate, and a few minutes more had them back in his rooms. Severus threw aside his cloak and then reached to help with hers. She gave him a weak smile but wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What for?" he sneered. "Dunderheads who didn't have enough other gossip?" He took her hand and led her to the sofa, gently pushing her down. "Or having to listen as everyone asked about your ex?" He considered her position on the sofa and then took one for himself, laying his head in her lap and kicking his still-booted feet up over the other arm. Yes, that was the ticket. Her soft dress and thighs made a glorious pillow. "Next year will be better."

Hermione looked down at him with surprise. "You want to go again next year?"

"Merlin, no, but your best friend is Harry Potter, and this way means declining all the other holiday invitations guilt-free."

She smiled. "You  _ are _ brilliant."

He'd never get tired of hearing that.

"Severus," she said softly, raising one hand to stroke his hair. Heavenly. "Thank you for everything. Sometimes I still feel like a wreck. Sometimes I'm back to practically catatonic like I was in July. You make me feel like that's all right. The rest of the week is still a slog, but I'll be fine if I can make it to Friday. On Fridays, I can be myself and be with you. On Fridays, I'm in love, and there is nothing we cannot do."

\----------

Hermione reviewed the red ink on her thesis as the improved Nerve Pain Potion simmered. Severus was so much more thorough than Slughorn, and she was counting down the days to the end of her apprenticeship. When Severus came into the lab, Hermione shook her finger at him and scolded, "You'll have to wait on a cot like a proper patient. I can't give you any special treatment just because you reinjured yourself in the heat of passion."

She could feel his smug smirk without even looking. Hearing him moan last night had driven her wild, and he didn't hold back when he realized how it turned her on. This potion had better bloody work, because she wanted to hear that more often.

Severus obeyed, and Hermione finished reviewing his notes on her work, with a few moments to spare before bottling the new potion. It was Saturday. It was the day before Valentine's. They had spent their lab time yesterday brewing her new love potion antidote, anticipating the holiday shitshow. Juveniles were not subject to criminal charges for love potions, but a mere warning and a cleared record when they came of age. While in theory this protected minors from being punished too harshly for stupid mistakes, the reality was that most adult offenders had experienced giving or receiving a love potion as a minor. There had to be a better way to prevent the non-consensual use of love potions. That would be her  _ next _ challenge, as soon as she published her unified theory of rose-based love potions and their wiggintree-based antidotes.

When the new pain potion was ready, she stepped out to the infirmary and found Severus sitting dutifully on the nearest bed, still looking smug as hell. She handed him the goblet, and he downed it without complaint. He was looking at her with a hunger she came to expect in the bedroom, and she wondered what sort of filthy comment he was cooking up for his first permanently pain-free words.

Her jaw dropped when he said, "Hermione, will you marry me?"

Merlin, he was serious. She could read his cues well enough to know that. She gulped, thought about it just long enough to make his smirking grin falter, and then slipped her arms around him. "Elope next Friday?"

He kissed her soundly. He was becoming a very good kisser. As he should. They practiced, thoroughly, every Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who spent this Christmas weekend with me, Severus, and Hermione <3 and thank you to anyone who comes to this fic after today, too. This fic was my "goodbye and good riddance" to all the struggles of the year 2020, and I hope I did some justice to Severus and Hermione dealing with their struggles, too. Whatever fuels your nightmares, please take care yourself, even just one day a week. I'm partial to Fridays, myself. Hoping for a much happier new year, love you all. --Jal


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